


blue summer sky

by deanpendragon



Series: wags and whiskers [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Pet Store, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pet Store
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-10 21:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7008580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanpendragon/pseuds/deanpendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tadashi manages his grandfather's pet store and Tsukishima works at the music shop next door. Lots of exclamation points, dialogue, obvious crushes, internal (and overexcited) monologuing, animal trivia and terrible puns ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> just gonna throw this out there: i know little to nothing about how pet shops actually operate or anything like that. this is just for fun, fun, fun. just for fun. so if something's not totally accurate--remember this: for fun! fun, fun. fUN. the animal facts and stuff are real, though. bc that research is fun in and of itself!
> 
> can you dig it??
> 
> //buckles you in

Yamaguchi Tadashi is entirely too responsible. He always has been.

Which is why his grandfather entrusted him to take over his pet store when he retired, even though Tadashi had just recently turned twenty. He was delighted; he’d explored the colorful aisles of Wags and Whiskers since before he could ride a bike. His parents were hesitant at first—as was he, if he’s being honest—but nostalgia won them all over in the end. His grandpa was as proud as a peach (these were his exact words, though Tadashi’s unsure of the existence of this idiom).

“Can I at least change the name?” Tadashi had asked.

“Huh? Of course not! It’s been Wags and Whiskers for thirteen years now, son.”

“But we don’t even _sell_ dogs.”

“Tadashi, you can’t change a leopard’s spots.”

“I’m not sure that really applies here, Grandpa.”

It’s been a year since then, and managing the store is—to keep up with his grandfather’s affinity for idioms—no piece of cake. 

The kittens shit _a lot_. The aquaria have to be changed far too often. The birds are noisy even before Tadashi’s had his first coffee of the day. The store is short-staffed and right around the corner from the local high school, so kids always stop in to ogle the animals and never buy anything. The single bulb that lights the back room has been flickering for close to two months now and Tadashi can’t reach to change it. Not even Bokuto can, though he’s close. The shop’s half-ladder has mysteriously disappeared. Tadashi suspects Hinata. He makes copious mental notes to check their apartment for it but always forgets.

“I didn’t touch it,” Bokuto insists when Tadashi mentions it to him. “Hinata probably took it so he could reach to kiss Kageyama.”

“Oh my god,” laughs Tadashi as he ticks the _sweep_ box on the cleaning chart.

“That was a good one, right?!”

“Totally.”

“I’m hilarious.”

“What’re you guys talking about?” Hinata calls from the cat supply aisle.

“Nothing!” they both call back.

Despite all this, Tadashi loves it—no, he _adores_ it. He adores working here. He loves animals. There really isn’t anything he’d rather do, even if his class schedule this semester makes it hard to constantly be on top of his mediocre staff. He loves them, he really, really does, but he’s putting the _HELP WANTED_ sign in the window first thing Monday. 

Again, _loves them_ , but they run him ragged. He could never fire them. But he could use one more person to take at least ten hours a week on the schedule. Perhaps it could be someone who doesn’t sing show tunes to the cockatiels every night before lockup (Bokuto, who has absolutely no melody whatsoever), or someone who won’t shout greetings to each individual fish every morning before the doors open (Hinata has names for every single one of them, and _complicated_ ones at that).

What irritates Tadashi even more than these routines is the fact that he finds them so goddamn endearing.

* * * * *

An hour before Tadashi has to leave for class, Kageyama sets Zelda loose in the shop.

Little kids are screaming. Bokuto is busting a gut. Tadashi has dropped his coffee and Hinata is on his hands and knees scrubbing at the tiled floor like there’s not a more pressing matter at hand. The customers warily eye Tadashi’s manager button.

“She won’t hurt you! She’s so small! And very docile!” Tadashi tells them, but they’re having none of it.

A group of small children cling to their mother’s skirt and glare at him like, _how dare you do this to us. This was supposed to be our nice day out and you are a terrible, terrible human with stupid freckles and very messy hair! Run a brush through that! Get your shit together! You’re not fit to wear that manager button!_

So he sprints from the shop out onto the sidewalk. Wags and Whiskers is nestled on a strip right between a music shop and a place that holds modeling classes (the latter gives Tadashi a fair amount of parking lot eye candy to ogle when business is slow). 

He swings open the heavy door to the music shop—Offbeat, it’s called—and whips his head around. His ears immediately pick up the smooth jazz that filters through the expansive room. The guy behind the counter looks up from his magazine and for a second, Tadashi wonders if he’s accidentally walked into the modeling place. 

The guy blinks at him. Tadashi blinks back.

“This is the music shop?” he pants.

The guy takes a long look at the many instruments that surround Tadashi and squints like he absolutely wants to say something snarky and it physically pains him to resist.

“Yes,” he says finally.

“Is that jazz? Where’s that coming from?”

Tadashi sprints up to the counter and holy cow, this guy’s even prettier up close. But Tadashi’s on a mission; he doesn’t have the time to be distracted by golden eyes and white blond hair, damn it. It takes a lot of effort to look away (Tadashi really likes blond hair, okay?) but he identifies the small wireless stereo as the source of the soft music. He ducks down to press his ear to it. He nods his head in approval.

“Hey, I need this! Can I borrow this for a sec?”

“A sec?” the guy repeats.

“My idiot roommate’s idiot friend set Zelda loose in my shop,” Tadashi blurts. He adds as an afterthought, “I work next door.”

“Zelda?” the guy inquires, turning the page of his magazine.

“Ah, right—our chameleon. She falls asleep with soft music. This guy who works for me named her that because she’s naturally green and I told him ‘ _Bokuto, Zelda doesn’t even wear any green’—_ in most incarnations, anyway—but the name stuck and so that’s what we call her and I really can’t get into this right now because she’s _loose_ in my shop and it’s freaking out the children and Hinata won’t stop cleaning up my coffee and I’m just gonna borrow this, okay?”

Tadashi doesn’t have the time to stick around and be embarrassed about his word vomit so he plucks the small stereo from the counter and rushes next door, the bell on the music shop’s door jingling merrily as he exits. The guy behind the counter doesn’t even attempt to stop him. 

He feels like a white knight as he bursts into his shop with the stereo in hand. It might as well be Excalibur. Kageyama points him to the chameleon and Tadashi sets his weapon at the end of the pet food aisle where she resides. 

The children watch on as her slow crawl ceases. She hasn’t even had the time to change her colors from viridescent to the white or black of the checkered tile underneath her. Her beady eyes close within half a minute. Hinata peeks around Tadashi’s side and Bokuto watches closely over his shoulder. The whole ordeal is quite anticlimactic.

He sighs with relief seconds later when Bokuto places the sleeping reptile back in her cage.

“And the crowd goes wild!” Bokuto announces.

He actually gets a few claps from amused parents but for the most part, people go back to their shopping. The smooth jazz has customers nodding their heads. Tadashi puts his hands on his hips and storms to the rabbit cages. Kageyama looks up from the pair of them—the shop only has two—when Tadashi clears his throat.

“Sorry,” Kageyama claims with a frown, “there was a spider.”

“There was a spider,” Tadashi deadpans.

“Yeah.”

“So you set a lizard loose in my shop.”

Kageyama cringes. “In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best idea.”

“That’s not even a good idea in foresight!”

“My bad. I won’t do it again.”

“No shit, Kageyama!”

“I’ll buy your coffee for the next couple days. Okay?”

“You’re fired,” sighs Tadashi as he walks back to the front of the shop.

“I don’t even work here!”

“Okay, so I’ll hire you and _then_ I’ll fire you,” he calls.

“I said I was sorry!”

“I like my coffee black.” 

“Noted,” Kageyama mutters.

Tadashi pulls his name tag from his shirt. He places it inside the drawer of the register when Bokuto rings someone up for a squeaky dog toy shaped like a fire hydrant. Tadashi grabs his heavy schoolbag from under the counter. With a sigh, he pulls it over his shoulder.

“Why so bummed?” asks Bokuto. “That was so fun!”

“Okay,” Tadashi admits after a moment, “that _was_ kind of awesome.”

“Did you see me, Yamaguchi, did you see me? I saved the store!”

“You sure did, pal.”

“Feels good to be a hero. You get most of the credit, though.”

Tadashi bats his eyelashes in mock flattery.

“What can I say, I’m a lifesaver,” he drones.

“I’ll say! Hey, have fun in class.”

“Thanks. I’ll be back later to lock up,” Tadashi says.

“It’s fine. Me and Hinata will take care of it.”

He cocks his head. “You sure?”

“Totally! We got this. And we’ll make Kageyama help.” Bokuto beams. “See ya later, boss.”

Tadashi beams back. Bokuto’s enthusiasm is six kinds of contagious.

  
* * * * *

When Tadashi gets to Wags and Whiskers the next morning, Hinata’s midway through a yawn, crouched over the rabbit enclosure. He sprinkles food into their bowl and leaps three feet into the air—no, _literally_ —when Tadashi’s sneakers squeak on the floor behind him.

“Sorry, Hinata. How are they?”

“They’re good, I think. Meatballs is jealous because Zelda got to roam the store yesterday and he didn’t. Aren’t you, buddy?” Hinata coos at the black rabbit. “That reminds me, that’s your coffee on the front counter. Kageyama made me bring it to you.”

“Nice,” Tadashi rejoices and goes to retrieve it. He goes on when he returns, “Why’d you leave so early this morning? Just to come here?”

“Had to race Kageyama to his class,” Hinata answers through another yawn.

“You went all the way to campus just to race him?”

“You say that like it’s weird.”

Tadashi takes a sip of his hot coffee. He winces; it’s so sweet.

“I told him black,” Tadashi says to himself.

“Huh?”

“It’s nothing. I’m gonna feed the fish.”

“Tell them I say hi!”

He crosses the tiny store, footsteps loud in the slow morning atmosphere. The heat of the coffee cup goes right through the paper cup to Tadashi’s palm. He grins to himself as he takes the cylindrical fish food container from a hidden cupboard by the aquaria. 

_No class today!_ he rejoices internally. _No class today, no class today, no class today!_ _None for you either, little fishies. I wonder what Hinata’s named you. But I probably wouldn’t remember if he told me._

When he almost dumps his hot coffee in the minnow tank instead of the fish flakes he holds in his other hand, Tadashi decides it’s probably best to set his drink back up front.

“What do you think caffeine would do to minnows?” he voices.

“They’d probably zip around their tank and make symbols and faces like that group of fish in _Finding Nemo._ Holy shit, can you imagine? Probably shouldn’t actually give them any, though.”

He must have been really zoned out not to have heard Bokuto come in. He’s counting the money in the drawer by hand. 

Tadashi is endlessly fascinated by the fact that Bokuto is some kind of math superstar and doesn’t even use the money counter Tadashi had shelled out for a few months back (though Tadashi himself does, so it wasn’t a complete waste. And Hinata isn’t even allowed at the register). 

Bokuto slaps the stack on the counter and turns to Tadashi. His styled hair is especially pointy today—he must be in good spirits. It tends to droop when his mood goes sour. Or Tadashi just imagines it because he feels that is something that should happen, which is also totally plausible.

“Also,” Bokuto says, “when did we get music playing in here?”

Tadashi listens, staring at the index finger Bokuto points upward.

“Oh, fuck,” Tadashi swears, “I forgot to take back the stereo yesterday!”

“The one we needed for Zelda? Man, that thing is still going?”

“Apparently,” Tadashi answers, uncovering it from the shelf behind the counter. He’d set his bag in front of it this morning and hadn’t even noticed. He picks it up and turns it over in his hands.

“Gotta hand it to Kuroo, he sells some quality shit.”

“I’d say so.”

“Does it play anything else? This isn’t really my style.”

“Oh my god, I have to take it back. How’d that guy not come after me?” Tadashi marvels.

“What guy?”

“There’s this guy—the guy that was there when I took it, I mean.”

“You just _took_ it? Hilarious!” Bokuto crows. “Here, give it to me. I’ll take it back over.”

Tadashi considers this. But he should probably go himself, to apologize and whatnot. Perhaps to explain the situation a little more clearly. Yes, those are his reasons. _No ulterior motives here! No, sir!_

“Er, ah—it’s fine. I’ll do it later.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. I bet they’re not even open yet.”

“Suit yourself,” Bokuto says, moving to recount the contents of the till.

* * * * *  


It’s nearly one by the time Tadashi actually makes it over to the music shop. The stereo is impossibly light in his hand as he skips inside. The sunshine always put him in a good mood. He’s even more pleased when he sees the blond guy from yesterday behind the counter, having not even considered the possibility that someone else might be working instead.

There’s a girl at the register so Tadashi takes his time making his way there. The grand piano in the far corner reminds him of his grandpa and the jaunty tunes he plays at family parties ( _tickling the ivories_ , he calls it). Tadashi wonders if he’d be able to bang out any of the ditties he taught him when he was little. The bell on the shop’s door jingles. Tadashi steps up to the counter.

The guy’s standing this time, stool abandoned somewhere behind him, and _wow_ is he tall. Tadashi’s tall too, but this guy is _tall-_ tall. Tadashi wonders if he’s taller than Bokuto. He really can’t tell from his place across the counter. 

“Hi,” Tadashi says like he’s a toddler and it’s the only word he knows.

“Hi,” the guy says back. There’s a pause.

“Oh! Uh, I have this for you.”

Tadashi sets the stereo between them. Smooth jazz emits incessantly from its tiny speakers.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Do you always let people just run out of here with merchandise?” he jests.

The guy shrugs. “I figured you’d be back.”

Tadashi feels himself going pink. The guy stares at him through his spectacles, eyebrow inching up his forehead.

“I mean, you don’t exactly look like a delinquent.”

“Yeah, I left my leather jacket at home,” he says and then immediately wants to strangle himself. He feels not as bad when the guy’s eyes glint with amusement (or is it bemusement? Tadashi can’t tell).

“Besides, you said you worked next door. So I figured I could always find you there.”

Tadashi beams. “Six days a week.”

He feels silly, being so animated toward this stoic music store employee. But he can’t exactly switch it off. There’s something about the guy’s phlegmatic demeanor that makes Tadashi want to be even livelier. He stares up at him but the blond says nothing more.

“Well,” Tadashi starts, only semi-deflated, “thanks for not calling the police on me, I guess.”

“Sure,” he says with a nod.

Tadashi taps the top of the stereo with his pointer finger and spins on his heel. He heads for the door thinking, _Tadashi, go back! Go back and ask him what his favorite color is!_ _No, that’s stupid,_ he realizes as the guy is dressed completely monochromatic. It makes Tadashi’s own lime green shirt seem gaudy. _Go ask him if he likes music! But he’s just going to say yes—he works in a music store for Christ’s sake—and then you won’t know where to go from there! But it’s fine! Just say something! Anything, dunderhead!_

His fingers grip the cool steel handle of the door and pull. The bell chimes.

“Did it work?”

Tadashi turns around. “Huh?”

It’s the guy’s turn to poke at the stereo.

“Did it work?” he asks. “On the chameleon?”

Tadashi beams and lets the door fall closed once again. He ambles back to the counter as he speaks.

“Yeah, it totally did. She fell asleep halfway down the pet food aisle. Though she shouldn’t have been there in the first place, of course.”

The guy taps his fingers on the counter. “Your idiot roommate’s idiot friend?”

“He let her out because he wanted her to eat a spider he saw.”

“That’s an interesting approach.”

“Yeah,” Tadashi sighs, “yeah it is.”

The guy gives an almost smile that feels like a victory to Tadashi. For the first time, he notices the name tag pinned by the zipper of his white zip-up. It’s impossibly clean; Tadashi would dirty it if he’d wear it for even a hot minute. _Tsukishima Kei_ , the name tag reads. Tadashi grins at the blue lettering. It’s currently the only dab of color on the guy’s—Tsukishima’s—person. Tadashi’s first thought is, _I want to splash some paint on you! Turn you into a better work of art than you already are, hey!_

“Is it just the one reptile that's over there?”

“Yep. It’s not really a huge store,” Tadashi tells him.

“What kind of chameleon is it?”

An odd question, especially since it sounds genuinely curious instead of conversational. The answer falls hastily from Tadashi’s mouth, wanting to keep his electric attention.

“She’s a Fischer’s chameleon.”

“Oh. Cool. They’re pretty rare.”

“Yeah, they are.” Tadashi’s damn impressed. He wonders, “How’d, uh—how’d you know that?”

Tsukishima shrugs. His plastic name tag clinks against the zipper of his hoodie.

“I think we’re the only store in the area that’s got one, actually,” Tadashi adds proudly.

“Neat. I wouldn’t mind g—”

There’s commotion in an unseen room like a stack of boxes has been knocked over. Tadashi winces and starts to move to the sound before remembering he isn’t in his own store. The constant feeling of potential-doom-due-to-hyperactive-employees follows him everywhere, apparently.

“Is that Tadashi?” yells a distant voice.

“I, uh—I don’t know,” Tsukishima calls and follows up with an affirmative when Tadashi nods.

Kuroo bursts from the back room and holds his cell phone in the air above his head.

“What is this, the first time you’ve actually been in here? Besides yesterday when you stole my speaker and didn’t even _tell_ me you were here,” he reprimands.

Tadashi taps his fingertips together. “I was kind of in a hurry, Kuroo.”

“It’s cool. I heard about the whole lizard thing.”

“Chameleon,” Tsukishima corrects.

Kuroo stares at him. “Chameleons are lizards, Tsukishima.”

“You’re not technically wrong.”

“ _Anyways_ ,” Kuroo redirects, “Bokuto just texted me saying he needs you over there. He says it’s an ‘energy’, but I’m like, seventy-two percent sure he meant ‘emergency’.”

“Seriously? But I’ve only been gone for five minutes!”

“Yeah. Bokuto’s great, huh?” Kuroo fawns.

Tadashi groans and rushes back to the pet store. On his way out the door, he gives Tsukishima a wave and beams when he actually gets a nod back. _Nice_ , he thinks as he reenters Wags and Whiskers, _we totally had a conversation! And what a cute name! Be careful not to get your white zip-up dirty for the rest of the day—not that I think you will!_

It takes Tadashi a minute to actually find Bokuto as he’s hiding behind the fern at the end of the cat supply aisle. Tadashi puts his hands on his hips but Bokuto’s looking the other way. He follows his gaze to the aquaria. Tadashi spooks when Bokuto claps a meaty hand on his shoulder. His freaky yellow eyes are even freakier when opened all wide and crazy like that; Tadashi can see the white all the way around his irises.

“The fish guy,” he whispers.

“Aw man,” Tadashi whines, “ _that’s_ why you needed me?”

“Yamaguchi, he’s back! I don’t know what to do!”

“Maybe go ask him if he wants a fish?” he answers, exasperated.

“He _doesn’t_ though, man. He never wants one. He just watches them.”

“Kinda like you watch him?”

“Exactly,” Bokuto replies distractedly, kneeling behind the fern once again.

“You’re loony.”

“Maybe so, maybe so,” he mumbles.

“Just go ask him if he needs any help,” Tadashi insists around a laugh. The fern doesn’t cover Bokuto _at all_ , and he looks hilarious believing that it does. The clay pot it resides in wouldn’t even hide his head, especially with his hair sticking out the way it does. 

“Incredible,” notes Tadashi.

Bokuto looks up at him. “Hm? What is?”

“Nothing. I’ll go cover the register. You just stay there and continue being a big ol’ creep.”

“Hey!” Bokuto protests. “It’s not my fault I know next to nothing about fish!”

“Sure, Bo. Whatever gets you through the day.”

* * * * *

“Why doesn’t he put the fish bowl in the front of the shop? Fish are pretty. It’d look neat,” Tadashi says to Bokuto after Kuroo leaves the pet store, small bag of fake purple rocks in hand.

“No idea. He wants them back in the office so he can have them all to himself.”

Tadashi leans onto the counter. “Weird.”

“I did make it sound pretty weird, didn’t I?” Bokuto muses, “It’s whatever. If they were by the register, Tsukishima’d give ‘em one of those cold, dead stares and they’d go belly-up in a second.”

Tadashi puffs out a laugh. Over near the kittens, Hinata talks animatedly with a couple of high school students still in their uniforms. _Buy them!_ Tadashi begs. _Buy them so we can sell them all and never stock those little furballs ever again!_ _All they do is break my heart!_

The three of them wander over to the rabbits and Tadashi sighs. He turns to Bokuto and absently straightens his bangs with his fingers. Subtly, he clears his throat.

Tadashi attempts to sound casual when he asks, “Has he been working there long?”

“Oh god, _years,_ ” Bokuto gushes. “I thought you knew that?”

Tadashi rolls his eyes. “Not Kuroo.”

“Oh. Right! ‘Cause I was gonna say—”

“I meant Tsukishima,” he interrupts. “Has he worked there long?”

Bokuto bites at the hangnail he’s formed on his thumb. He has a bad habit of picking at his nails when he’s in need of something to do, which is basically all the time. His day-to-day work checklists are always twice as long as Hinata’s and nearly rival Tadashi’s own. Bokuto looks up to the ceiling in thought. A parakeet squawks shrilly in the few seconds of silence.

“Nah. Maybe a little over a month now, I think,” he answers around his fingertip.

Tadashi acknowledges this with a thoughtful hum.

“Kuroo must be following your lead and hiring college kids, eh?”

“Yeah. Because that worked out so well for me.”

“Hey!” Bokuto says, hurt.

“I’m joking! Just joking. You guys are great. Wouldn’t trade you for the world,” Tadashi insists, prompting Bokuto for a high five even though they are always way too enthusiastic and painful.

It was his grandfather’s idea to hire only university students. He said they’d be easier to boss around because they’d be closer to Tadashi’s age, not like Tadashi really cares about that. So naturally he opted to hire his closest friends, which has actually turned out pretty well for him. Bokuto and Hinata get on like a house on fire (his grandfather’s words, of course). Tadashi really wasn’t lying to Bokuto; there’s no one else he’d rather work with. Although he _could_ use another set of hands around the shop. He’ll get to that eventually.

“You’re the best, Yamaguchi!”

“I know it. Can you go talk to the birds? They’re getting kind of loud.”

“My pleasure. Bird Keeper Bokuto, away!”

Bokuto salutes him and sprints to the other side of the store to coo at the cockatiels. The high school students Hinata had been entertaining wave as they walk past. Hinata hops up to the counter and beams. Three electronic beeps sound when the door is opened.

“Can you and I take the kittens home one night this week, Yamaguchi, _please_?”

“I don’t know, Hinata. My grandma’s getting pretty attached to them.”

His grandparents take the three unsold kittens every night after the shop closes up (save for the couple nights a week when Bokuto does). They light up every time he brings them over or one of them stops by the shop to pick them up for the night. He’s starting to wonder why they don’t just keep at least one of the kittens for themselves. Perhaps he’ll bring it up. 

Tadashi just can’t bear to hear them mewl at him while he works like, _what are you doing just sweeping that floor? Get us out of here! Give us a home! Attach more jingle bells to the side of our cage so we can swat at them nonstop and drive you insane!_ _Look at our cute little faces. It’s the least we deserve!_

“I know it is, buddies.”

“Huh?” Hinata says, cocking his head. 

Tadashi reaches across the counter to ruffle his wild orange hair.

“Sure thing, Hinata. We can keep them this weekend.”

“For real?!” he squawks, not dissimilar to the sounds Bokuto makes over by the bird cages.

Tadashi hums. “But we have to be secret about it because of the whole ‘no pets’ thing.”

“What a lame rule.”

“I know, right?”

“Not like the landlord would care if she saw us carry them in,” Hinata replies, leaning his elbows on the counter. “She loves you.”

“Only because I give her a discount on fish food.”

“That’s what I mean.”

There’s a scuffling sound as Bokuto zips across the shop to where they stand. He alternates between tapping his fingers nervously on the counter and poking at his hair.

“Uh,” he starts, “anything need to be done in the stock room?”

“Don’t think so. What’s wrong with you?” Tadashi asks, checking his clipboard.

Bokuto pats at his hair once more and shrugs. “Nothing! Just wanna help out, is all.”

“Your fish guy’s coming in, isn’t he?”

Bokuto sighs. He scrubs his hands over his face and Hinata looks up at him with big, sympathetic eyes. Tadashi rolls his and Bokuto starts to wail.

“He’s not _my_ fish guy, okay. He belongs to no one. He’s like the wind, or—or those birds that land by you in the park when they know you’ve got bread. He’s fish guy, tall and pretty and free.”

Tadashi snickers with amusement. “That was so _gay_ , Bokuto.”

“It really kind of was,” agrees Hinata.

“Then you guys should appreciate it,” Bokuto retorts, fingers still drumming on the counter.

“We do,” Tadashi assures him.

“Bokuto, since when are _you_ shy? You made out with Kuroo in the middle of campus on a dare, and—”

Tadashi cuts in, “Seriously, you did? Where was I?”

“—you’re like, the coolest guy ever! For real!”

Bokuto’s fingers still. “You really think that, Hinata?”

“Totally! You’re the _king_ of all things cool!”

“The king of all things cool, huh,” Bokuto says slowly with a grin, as if assessing the way it tastes in his mouth. He straightens up and puts his hands on his hips, muscles flexing under the fluorescents of the pet shop. “You know what, you’re right. I’m gonna talk to him today. I’m the king of all things cool!”

“So cool!” Hinata and Tadashi shout back in unison.

“Okay—I’ll talk to him! I’ll ask him if he wants a fish!”

Three monotonous beeps ring through the shop once again when the front door opens. Bokuto immediately spooks and grabs the clipboard right out of Tadashi’s hand.

“Right after I do inventory!” he insists and zooms off.

* * * * *

Tadashi thinks it’s not exactly a _sneak attack_ as Bokuto had claimed because Kuroo _knows_ it’s happening and had probably begged for it. So when Bokuto sprints from the half-lit pet store right after closing with two handfuls of kittens, Tadashi sighs and trails after him. The tiny kittens are dwarfed even more dramatically in Bokuto’s giant hands.

Bokuto’s already sprinted down the sidewalk and barged into the (also closed) music shop with a victorious cry by the time Tadashi even makes it outside. He tries to pull the door open but it won’t move. _Of course_ , he thinks, _of course it opens for Bokuto, the spikey-haired kitten kidnapper and not for me, the tired exam-taking Tadashi who just wants to go home and go to bed. Of course, of course. Should’ve seen this coming._

Who knows how long Kuroo will fawn over those kittens. Tadashi should just leave and let Bokuto lock up and take them for the night. But instead, he raps his knuckles against the cool glass of Offbeat’s door.

“Bokuto, I need to bring those cats to my grandparents, you dumb idiot. Come on,” Tadashi whines to no one, “I need _sleep_. I shouldn’t have let Hinata go home early. Why am I so nice? Who let me be this nice? Who, who, why me—”

Tadashi cuts off when the door swings back. Tsukishima props it open with his foot and looks blankly down at him. Tadashi stares. Only moonlight illuminates his pale face, the lights from the stores on the strip having been shut off by this time of night, but his eyes still shine impressively beneath his glasses. There’s a soft, squeaky yawn and Tadashi finally looks away. His eyes flick downward to the three kittens in Tsukishima’s arms.

“I think these belong to you,” he says.

“That they do,” says Tadashi, taking them gently. They’re nearly sound asleep, their little bodies warm through Tadashi’s t-shirt. “Thanks a lot.”

“Sure.”

“What’re Kuroo and Bokuto doing?” he asks, trying to peek around Tsukishima’s lanky figure in the doorway. Tsukishima’s hand comes up to adjust his glasses.

“Pouting because I commandeered those cats.”

Tadashi chirps out a laugh. 

“Well, they _are_ pretty cute,” he says and Tsukishima raises an eyebrow at him. “The cats, I mean! Not Bokuto and Kuroo,” Tadashi clarifies frantically, although he does secretly think Bokuto and Kuroo are pretty cute, too.

“Right,” Tsukishima responds, his expression unreadable.

“Do, uh—do you like cats?”

Tsukishima shrugs. “I like creatures.”

_Such odd diction,_ Tadashi thinks excitedly.

“Do you mind opening the door of my shop for me? I would, but…”

They both look down at his armful of kittens. Tsukishima nods curtly.

“No problem.”

Tadashi beams and Tsukishima steps out onto the sidewalk with him. The door of the music shop shuts heavily behind him and they start to walk. Tadashi grins down at the pavement, their footfalls in sync.

He thanks Tsukishima when he holds the door open for him, stepping into the shop to carefully place the kittens in their carrying case on the front counter. All three of them immediately nestle into one another in the new space. Once he’s buttoned the latch, he looks over to the doorway where Tsukishima lingers, staring owlishly into the half-lift shop. The low buzz of the aquaria is loud in the silence.

“I’m Yamaguchi Tadashi, by the way. I’m not sure if I’ve told you that yet,” Tadashi lies, stepping back over to him. He definitely knows he hasn’t introduced himself before this because he’s been waiting impatiently for the opportunity.

“Tsukishima Kei.”

“I got that.”

His fingernail clinks against Tsukishima’s plastic name tag he still wears when he taps at it. Tsukishima hums and shifts his weight to his other foot. A soft breeze enters the shop from the door he still holds open and it blows Tadashi’s bangs from his forehead. He reaches to straighten them out of habit.

“Do you think I could see the chameleon?” asks Tsukishima.

“Yeah, totally!” Tadashi chirps. “Can you just turn the lock behind you?”

“Got it.”

The lock latches with a dull sound and Tadashi turns on his heel so Tsukishima can’t see his embarrassing grin. They walk to Zelda’s terrarium under one of the only illuminated lights in the small shop.

“What about your friend?”

“Bokuto? He’ll be fine. He locked me out, I can lock him out.”

“Sound reasoning,” agrees Tsukishima and Tadashi snickers.

He ducks down to peer into the greenery of Zelda’s tank. Tsukishima stoops over too.

“Whoa,” Tadashi marvels, “I’m surprised she’s not sleeping.”

“So cool how her eyes flick around like that.”

“You think so? It always sort of freaks me out,” he admits, turning his head to look at Tsukishima.

He’s way closer than Tadashi thought he was. His middle finger is pressed to the bridge of his glasses to keep them from slipping as he bends over. When Tsukishima’s eyes flit from the terrarium, Tadashi quickly looks down. Tsukishima’s converse are impossibly white against the dull tile floor. _I need to mop soon_ , Tadashi thinks.

“It does? Why?”

“I dunno, I mean—think about if our eyes could do that.”

“Do what,” implores Tsukishima, “move independently of one another?”

“Yeah. That wouldn’t freak you out?”

Tsukishima makes a thoughtful sound. They both turn to stare into the tank once more. Zelda takes her sweet time as she crawls up the giant tree branch suspended through the middle of it.

“It would be freaky,” Tsukishima answers a minute later.

Tadashi slaps his hands on his knees. “See?”

“My vision’s terrible enough as is. Not like hers, though—full range of motion, turreted eyes watching multiple directions at once, zooming in and out like miniature cameras. So neat.”

It’s the most Tadashi’s heard him talk thus far. He wants to hear way, way more. _Damn it, I should stock more reptiles. We could walk down the line of them and he could probably say stuff like that about all of them—why’s he know this stuff, anyway? Is it just a general interest? Me too, Tsukishima, me too! The fact that I run this place is just an added bonus!_

“Really neat,” he agrees, freckled cheeks flushing without his permission.

“How long has she been here?”

“About six months. So nearly half the time I’ve been the manager here.”

“I can’t believe no one’s bought her,” Tsukishima says. He lifts his fingers to the side of the tank.

Tadashi sighs. “Me either.”

It really is a shame. Chameleons of her kind only live up to around three years, and though she’s still a baby, Tadashi wants someone to snatch her up soon (not like he wants her gone from the shop, of course; she’s a treasure). And who knows when Wags and Whiskers will get more lizards? _Grandpa, probably,_ Tadashi answers himself.

When Tsukishima’s arm falls back to his side, he leaves fingerprints on the glass.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. He pulls his sleeve over his hand and wipes it clean with the utmost care. He’s not sure why, but it makes Tadashi blush all over again.

He nearly jumps straight out of his skin with the single, cracking _bang_ on the shop’s front door. Tsukishima doesn’t even flinch.

“Tadashi,” Kuroo calls through the glass.

“Yamaguchi, c’mon, open up! My stuff’s in there!”

“Tadashi, did you steal my employee?”

Tsukishima and Tadashi share a look.

“Where are the kittens?” Bokuto asks, cheek pressed to the door. “Did Tsukishima eat them or toss them into a black hole or something equally weird? Don't stare into his eyes, kittens! You’ll be cursed for a hundred years!”

“So that’s what he thinks of me,” Tsukishima deadpans and Tadashi loses it.

“Stop shouting or you’ll wake everyone up,” he insists through his laughter as he goes to the front of the shop. He can barely make out Kuroo and Bokuto’s faces in the darkness. When they speak through the glass, it makes them sound like they’re from another dimension.

“ _Tada—shiiii,”_ Kuroo lilts when Tadashi tells him this much, “ _we’ve come for your brains, Tadashi. We’re from the planet—_ shit, Bo, what planet are we from?”

“Uh, the planet of kitten protectors?”

“Love it. _We’re from the planet of kitten protectors, let us in if you dare._ ”

“Are you zombies or aliens?” asks Tsukishima, seemingly materializing behind Tadashi as he unlocks the door. Bokuto immediately zips over to the counter to fawn over the sleeping kittens. Kuroo waltzes in after him.

“We’re this new species called ‘hey Tsukishima, aren’t you still on the clock?’”

Tsukishima squints at him. “Fair enough.”

“Sorry,” says Tadashi, “we were looking at Zelda.”

“My lovely lady!” Bokuto chimes in as he slings his backpack on.

Tadashi tells them all, “It’s way past my bedtime.”

“Fine. We’re out of here. See you fine gentlemen in the morning,” Kuroo says, ushering Tsukishima out the door. Tsukishima turns to Tadashi with one foot on the sidewalk.

“Thanks for showing her to me. That was cool of you.”

Tadashi smiles wide.

“Any time,” he insists, “I don’t mind.”

* * * * *

 Tadashi’s favorite place to eat lunch is on an old bench nestled in a small, grassy area across the parking lot from the shop. 

“Yamaguchi, are you gonna work here for a long time?”

“I hope so.”

Hinata shovels rice into his mouth and beams.

“‘Cause I was thinking,” he says after he swallows, “most people go to college in order to get a job. But you’ve already got one you’re gonna have for a long time, right?”

Tadashi hums. “I guess so, yeah. I guess I think of school as a kind of back-up plan.”

“You’ve got it all figured out, huh?”

_Not in the slightest_ , Tadashi thinks, but he won’t let Hinata know that.

He’s the responsible one of the two of them; the one that makes sure their laundry gets done, their apartment stays at least moderately livable, their rent gets in on time, and about one billion other things. Tadashi’s known since high school that Hinata could never, ever—bless his heart—live alone.

“Wish I had a back-up plan,” Hinata goes on.

Tadashi ruffles his hair. “You’ll be just fine.”

“Yeah, I think so too. I’m not really too concerned about it,” Hinata admits cheerfully.

Tadashi admires that. They both watch with smiles as a woman walks a giant, fluffy dog down the sidewalk. _It’s probably a good thing our building doesn’t allow pets_ , Tadashi muses, _because I’d have way too many puppies than necessary. But what is the necessary number of puppies, anyway? Surely this can not be measured. Puppies defy all science and mathematics. They run on the power of love!_

He takes a swig from the water bottle he shares with Hinata and places it on the bench between them. Tadashi turns to his left, eyeing the shop’s sign. The neon pink lettering contrasts wildly against the overcast sky.

Tadashi may not have gotten to change the name, but his grandfather did grant him the freedom to do whatever he might with the aesthetics of the place. Tadashi’s grateful. A year ago, the sign’s font was reminiscent of that of a funeral home—small, white, blocky, boring letters. But the large, looping letters of pink are so much more inviting. Momentarily, he eyes the blue signage above the music shop. It’s not bad. But Tadashi’s is just better. Hinata pats his shoulder and he turns to him.

“You don’t regret the hot pink, do you, Yamaguchi?”

Tadashi laughs. “No way.”

“Will you piggyback me back inside?”

“Okay, okay. Grab our trash.”

“Got it!” Hinata yelps, tossing their empty food containers into the nearby trash can.

“Hop on, crazy.”

Hinata’s jumping skills are concerning. Tadashi is shocked that he doesn’t overshoot and completely leapfrog him. He loops his arms under Hinata’s legs and bumbles back toward the shop.

“I’m not crazy, you’re crazy,” Hinata fires back.

“You are.”

“You are!”

“ _You_ are. I call last word.”

“But you _always_ get last word,” he whines.

Tadashi snickers, “And don’t you forget it.”

They’re halfway across the parking lot when Tsukishima emerges from Offbeat’s front entrance. _No hoodie today,_ Tadashi notes, _but you’ve still got those kickass white shoes. Too cool!_

They wave at each other and Tadashi beams.

“Hey! I’m slipping!” squawks Hinata.

“Whoops, sorry Hinata,” Tadashi says and hoists him further up his back.

Tsukishima eyes Hinata like a disgusting growth that sprouts from Tadashi’s shoulders, but Tadashi’s not actually sure if that’s what’s happening. He’s only pretty sure Tsukishima looks perpetually sullen and displeased, like he’s bitten into something far past its sell-by date. _Totally should not find that endearing,_ Tadashi realizes and then shrugs his shoulders, thinking, _hey, to each their own._

“Hey!” he greets once they’re close enough.

“Hey,” Tsukishima says. He swings a silver keyring around his index finger.

“What’s up?”

“Getting lunch.”

His eyes move from Tadashi’s to Hinata and then flit back again. He sort of looks like he wants to say more but Hinata has put him off the entire idea. But Tadashi’s probably just imagining it.

“Cool. We just had ours,” Tadashi tells him.

“Hi!” chirps Hinata, scrambling to drape himself over Tadashi’s shoulder.

“Hey.” Tsukishima swings the keyring once more.

“Can you guys get in here already?!” Bokuto screeches as he leans out the door of the pet shop. “I’ve had to pee so bad for like, twenty minutes now, oh my god. Oh, hey Tsukishima. What’s that pinched up face for? You always look like someone ran over your dog. Liven up a little, man!”

Tsukishima squints at the door even after Bokuto closes it behind him. He gives Tadashi a look when he chirps out a quick laugh.

“Sorry,” Tadashi tells him, “that was pretty funny though. Not that I, uh, think your face looks like that. I think it’s a fine face. I mean, it looks fine, er—have a nice lunch!”

Tsukishima’s pale face pinks only slightly, but it’s probably unnoticeable compared to the crimson that flushes over Tadashi’s own. He can practically feel Hinata’s questioning stare at the back of his head.

“Uh—” he starts. Tsukishima spares him.

“Thanks,” he interrupts. “See you, Yamaguchi.”

Hinata only speaks when Tsukishima’s disappeared around the corner of the strip.

“What the heck was that? You sounded like you were in high school again,” he giggles. “What’s the big deal? Also, that guy is super tall.”

“There is no big deal,” Tadashi answers quickly once they’re inside the shop. He drops Hinata from his back and he lands on his feet on the tile. He’s like a cat in that way. “There’s not even a little deal. You could use a microscope and six pairs of binoculars and you still wouldn’t find even the slightest speck of a deal, okay? There’s no deal. Nope.”

“You’re kind of weird,” Hinata tells him, head cocked and lips turned up in a smile.

“ _You’re_ weird.”

“You are.”

“ _You_ are.”

“You are—last word! Ha! I called it this time!”


	2. two

Tadashi’s Tuesdays consists of class, work, and then more class. Which is why he is in absolutely no mood when he walks into the aquaria section of Wags and Whiskers to see Kageyama attempting to scoop the guppies from their tank with his hand.

“Why?” is all he says.

Kageyama flinches and the water cupped in his palm splashes all over the floor.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” he bellows.

Tadashi pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs, “Kageyama, what are you doing to my fish?”

“I wanted to see if I could catch one.”

“Th—”

“They have such fast reflexes,” he carries on, “and I wanted to see if I was faster.”

Tadashi considers the _HELP WANTED_ sign in the front window and thinks about changing it to one that reads: _NO TOBIOS ALLOWED_. Perhaps he’d add _WITHOUT HINATA SUPERVISION_ to the bottom of it in parentheses. But he’s not actually sure if Hinata counts as supervision, especially when it comes to Kageyama. Tadashi puts his hands on his hips.

“Fine. Hinata dared me to,” Kageyama admits.

“So you just...did it?”

“He said I couldn’t!”

“You guys are an enigma. Please don’t handle the fish. Just—stay away from all of the animal enclosures, would you?”

Kageyama blinks. “That’d be kind of hard. It’s a pet store.”

“I know. I know it’s a pet store. Why’re you here, anyway?”

“I’m waiting for Hinata to finish his shift. We’re gonna race to campus because they’re giving out free ice cream cones,” Kageyama tells him, his tone like, _duh, Tadashi. Use your head for once._

“Right. Of course,” Tadashi deadpans. Kageyama nods.

He catches the towel Tadashi pulls from his apron when he throws it at him.

“Wipe up what you spilled, okay? And no more scooping. Don’t make me sic Bokuto on you.”

“Okay, okay,” Kageyama grumbles.

When Tadashi turns around, he runs straight into Bokuto’s fish guy. Tadashi’s never really gotten a good look at him until now. He tries to keep himself from ogling as the guy stumbles backward, glinting grey eyes wide with surprise. _Nice_ , thinks Tadashi even as he apologizes.

“I’m so sorry!” he insists.

“It’s fine,” the guy replies. “I probably shouldn’t have been standing right behind you.”

“It’s totally my fault—”

“These ones are just so beautiful,” he adds, lifting his hand to press his finger to the tank of Bloodfin tetra. The dull, silver fish wind their way through bits of swaying kelp. Tadashi thinks they’re probably the least captivating of all the fish in the shop. He looks at the surrounding tanks—Rainbowfish, Brackish fish, Rasboras and Cichlids—and cocks his head.

“Really?” he implores.

Fish guy runs a gentle hand through his dark, untidy hair. “I think so, at least.”

Tadashi makes a thoughtful sound. One of the fish glides to the very top of the tank and bumps against the small filter. Fish guy turns to look at him.

“You own this place, is that right?”

“Technically it’s my grandfather’s,” Tadashi informs with a smile. “But I’m the manager. Did you need something?”

The guy shakes his head. His glinting gaze returns to the tetras.

“Must be cool to work at a pet shop,” he muses, voice even and lulling.

Tadashi grins at the wall of aquaria.

“It really is.”

* * * * *

Bokuto favors the birds more than any other animal in the shop.

“Bokuto, I’m sure that one corner of the floor is really clean and stuff, but could you maybe think about sweeping the rest of it sometime soon?”

“You know, Yamaguchi,” he says in lieu of an answer, “maybe we should move the cockatiel cage over by the rabbits.”

Tadashi plucks the last rodent water bottle from a small cardboard box and hangs it on the highest peg. Bokuto holds the broom upright, resting his chin on the very top of it. 

“What? Why?”

“The other birds have formed cliques.”

“Really?” Tadashi asks disinterestedly. He flattens the empty box under his sneaker.

“Yes, really.” Bokuto ventures from the bird corner and sweeps down the cat aisle. “The parakeets, both fancy and not fancy, have formed a sick little club, the finches won’t even _face_ their—the cockatiels, I mean—direction,” he lists, “and don’t even get me _started_ on the lovebirds.”

“So you’re saying we should exile them,” figures Tadashi, “so they won’t feel so exiled?”

“Exactly. Wait, hey. No. Er—you know what I mean.”

Tadashi snickers and picks the flattened box up from the floor.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“So I can move them over there? Man, they’re gonna be so stoked!”

“I’d love to cater to your every bird-related need, Bokuto, I really would. But the cockatiels have got to stay where they are.”

Bokuto pouts, the broom stilling in his hands.

“Why this, Yamaguchi?” he whines.

“It’s the corner of the store with the least draft from the air conditioning vent,” answers Tadashi as he monitors the shelves of the rodent aisle. Every peg is exactly one notch left of where it should be. He blames Hinata. “It’s right above where the rabbits are. The birds can’t go there. And the cockatiels least of all.”

“Think of their bird-self-esteem! Their bird-pride! Their bird-sense of self-worth! You can’t understand any of that because you were so cool in high school.”

Tadashi snorts. “You didn’t even know me in high school, Bokuto.”

“Yeah, but I bet you were super cool just like you are now,” Bokuto insists, peeking over the shelves to give Tadashi a charming grin. Tadashi’s smile contradicts the exasperated roll of his eyes.

“Sorry, but flattery won’t move the bird cages.”

“Damn. Thought I had you there.”

“This close,” Tadashi replies, holding his index finger and thumb an inch apart.

Bokuto finally begins to sweep again. The bristles of the broom make _sshhhwish_ -ing sounds as they brush over the tile. One of the cockatiels in question whistles melodically.

“What’s the air conditioner matter?” Bokuto asks him.

Tadashi says, “It’s super bad for them.”

“What is?”

“The draft.”

Tadashi starts at the low voice and drops the flattened cardboard to the floor. He spins around and blinks up at Tsukishima. Despite their modest height difference, Tsukishima seems to loom. He stares at Tadashi though it’s Bokuto’s question he answers.

“The draft,” Tsukishima goes on. “The cool could make the cockatiels sick, or worse.”

Bokuto gasps. “Oh my god, I would die!”

“Technically _they_ would,” retorts Tsukishima.

“You’re dark,” Tadashi tells him, eyebrows raised in amusement. 

Tsukishima shrugs noncommittally. He leans down and picks up the sheet of cardboard, turning it over in his hands before handing it back to Tadashi. A few tufts of white blond hair peek out from the plain white baseball cap he wears. _A backwards baseball cap_ , marvels Tadashi, _how hip! How trendy! Kind of reminds me of the kids who’d beat me up in high school, but on you it totally works!_

“Hi to you too, Tsukishima,” Bokuto sneers.

“Hey.”

Tsukishima’s unwavering attention makes Tadashi excited and nervous all at once.

“I like your hat,” Tadashi compliments.

Tsukishima reaches up to touch it like he’d forgotten he was wearing one at all. He pushes his black glasses further up his nose with his middle finger before he lets his hand fall back to his side.

“Oh. Thanks. Cool apron,” he says and points to the pink one tied around Tadashi’s thin waist.

“It’s my favorite,” he admits, face burning a color similar to the fabric, “don’t make fun.”

Tsukishima gives him an almost-grin (which is really more of a not-frown). 

“I was being genuine,” he insists.

“Oh! Oh. Oh, well. Thank you.”

“Sure.”

A silent moment drags on. Bokuto looks between the two of them as he sweeps.

“I was hoping to see the chameleon again.”

“She’s actually on her break,” Tadashi says and then subsequently wants to take the fire ladder to the roof and jump off. “Oh my god, that was so lame. Sorry.”

The corner of Tsukishima’s mouth quirks up. 

“You think _that_ was lame?" he asks. "I work with Kuroo all day. Do you know how many music puns I have to hear on an hourly basis?”

“It’s probably close to the amount of bird ones I’m subjected to.”

“So, Tsukishima,” Bokuto calls from where he now stands behind the counter, “when you’re on your shift, would you say you’re working the _beat?”_

“Christ,” moans Tsukishima and Tadashi laughs.

“That was such a good one, holy shit. I gotta text that to Kuroo—ah, wait, my phone’s in the back room. Just tell him that one when you go back over there, would you? But say it was me who said it, obviously.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on!”

“No.”

Bokuto frowns. “You’re such a little—”

“Okay, alright, let’s go,” Tadashi interjects with a roll of his eyes, pulling Tsukishima away by his sleeve. 

He comes easily and they trudge through the shop to Zelda’s terrarium. He and Tsukishima duck down to watch as she crawls along the moss at very bottom of the rectangular enclosure. Tadashi hears Hinata chatting to a customer through the nearby partition of fish tanks.

“She’s pretty lively,” notes Tsukishima.

“Yeah, she really is. I’d let you hold her, but…”

“They don’t really like being handled, do they?”

“Right.”

Tsukishima nods and inches his face closer to the glass.

“It’s just as well. She’s just as nice to watch.”

_You’re pretty nice to watch, too,_ Tadashi fawns as he eyes Tsukishima’s profile. He wants to slide his fingertip from the center of his forehead down the gentle slope of his nose. His glasses would get in way though, so he’d have to take them off if he were to do that. Which he _won’t_. He _wouldn’t_. But still. His eyes move over the smooth, pale skin of Tsukishima’s cheek to his ear. His gaze follows the shell of it until—Tadashi’s mouth falls open. 

He’s got a cartilage piercing; a thick, semi-circle hoop with a ball on each end. Tadashi assumes one screws off so it can be inserted and then reattached once it’s through the skin. It’s kind of hot, Tadashi realizes with a shiver, and he’s never really been one for piercings. But that’s not even the best part.

It’s _pink_.

It’s a bright, flamboyant, _flamingo_ pink and it totally throws off Tsukishima’s black-and-white aesthetic. Tadashi is thrilled at the sight of it. He’s not sure how long he stares, but he gets a good idea when Tsukishima finally turns his way and raises an eyebrow.

“Your ear is pierced!” blurts Tadashi.

“Oh,” Tsukishima says, turning back to the tank. “Yeah.”

“Did it hurt?”

He shrugs. “Not really. I was drunk, so.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Not even a little.”

“What a ruffian!” Tadashi suggests playfully.

“Not even a little,” Tsukishima repeats with a smirk. 

The curve of his mouth has Tadashi blushing. He follows Tsukishima’s gaze to Zelda. She climbs onto the lowest branch in the enclosure and stays there, content. Tadashi grins. Her beady eyes asses her surroundings. Next to him, Tsukishima hums.

“I’m surprised you haven’t taken her for yourself, Yamaguchi.”

“Me too,” Tadashi agrees.

“Though I’m sure you must have plenty of pets already.”

Tadashi scratches the back of his head. “Not a single one, actually.”

Tsukishima turns and looks at him, eyes wide like gold coins. He only matches his gaze for a few seconds before turning away once again.

“A pet store manager who doesn’t have any pets, hm,” Tsukishima mumbles into the glass, more to himself than Tadashi. Golden eyes glint under fluorescent lights.

“Our building doesn’t allow them.”

“Our?” he questions.

“Me and Hinata’s building, I mean—my roommate.”

“Right, yeah. Piggyback guy,” Tsukishima drones.

“Yeah,” snickers Tadashi, “piggyback guy.”

Tsukishima suddenly looks vastly less interested in their conversation and Tadashi flounders in the silence. At the front of the shop, the register opens with a _clank._ They watch as Zelda ascends the branch on which she resides to settle at the very tip-top. 

“If I lived anywhere else, she’d definitely be mine,” Tadashi says after a minute.

“She’s gorgeous,” replies Tsukishima. “How much?”

Tadashi blinks. “You—you want to buy her?”

Tsukishima reaches forward and presses his palm flat against the glass. Both of Zelda’s eye flit to it.

“Definitely.”

* * * * *

“You’re buying Zelda? Whoa, I like your glasses! You work next door, huh? You and Yamaguchi are friends? How’d you get so tall?”

Tsukishima makes a face like he’s just bitten off the tip of his tongue. Tadashi swoops behind the counter and pats Hinata’s mop of orange hair like he's a treasured family Pomeranian.

“Since when are you allowed at the register?” he asks.

“Since never,” admits Hinata.

“Yep. Go talk to the fish guy, would you? God knows Bokuto won’t.”

“Fish guy?” parrots Tsukishima, sifting through his wallet.

“This guy that Bokuto’s cruising who always comes in here.”

Bokuto springs up next to Tadashi from where he’d been crouched beneath the counter.

“I resent that,” he protests vehemently, “I don’t _cruise_ anybody. I don’t _need_ to. Look at me.”

Hinata pipes up, “Isn’t that how you and Kuroo met?”

“We don’t talk about that! Go watch the fish, will you?!” Bokuto pleads.

“They’re not going anywhere—”

“Please, Hinata?” sighs Tadashi.

“Gotcha, Yamaguchi.”

“Thanks.”

Hinata and Bokuto salute each other before the latter ducks back under the counter.

“Wow,” deadpans Tsukishima, “you guys have a lot of fun, don’t you?”

Tadashi deadpans back, “You don’t even know the half of it.”

* * * * *

Kids are fine. Kids are great, kids are whatever. Tadashi doesn’t really have an opinion. All he knows is that his (already perpetually escalated) anxiety skyrockets whenever more than three of them are in his shop at once. He wants to _beg_ their parents to keep an eye on them at all times, but this is easier said than done. 

Which is why Tadashi is on his hands and knees wiping up water and bits of broken glass from one of the Betta bowls, knocked from its perch by an enthusiastic five-year-old (honestly, she could have been eight or maybe even three—Tadashi is _terrible_ at that).

But he’s honestly just glad there was only one bowl broken considering all of the Bettas are shelved together in a cluster. _Could’ve been worse, could’ve been worse, could_ _be worse,_ Tadashi sings in his head as he plucks a shard of glass from the tile, _you could have class today but you don’t._ _Could be worse, could be worse._

“What happened here?” Kuroo asks, suddenly standing over him. He clicks his tongue. “Tadashi, the water is supposed to go in the _tanks_ , not all over the floor. How many times have we been over this, man?”

“Ass. I hate kids,” Tadashi says even though he doesn’t.

“Yeah. Need help?”

Kuroo plucks a towel from the nearby cart and slumps to the floor in front of him.

“Glass?” he questions. He drops the small piece with a soft _clink_ when Tadashi motions to the collection of other pieces he’s gathered. 

“You’re on break? Is it that late already?”

“No, just bored,” Kuroo claims, swiping a hand through his wild black hair. Tadashi’s always found it kind of impressive. “I’ve got someone else behind the counter since Tsukishima’s not in today.”

“Oh.” Tadashi pauses. “Is he sick?”

“Not likely. He’s probably at home making love to that lizard.”

“That _chameleon_ ,” Tadashi clarifies.

“God,” Kuroo huffs, “you sound just like him.”

“In his defense, it does take a while to get the timing of the lights in their habitat accurate. And he _did_ buy an automatic misting system. Even I can't figure those things out."

“Good. Let him struggle.”

Kuroo grins wickedly and Tadashi chirps out an incredulous laugh. All of his grins look wicked. Tadashi wonders if that’s something he's had to work on or if it just comes naturally, though he guesses it’s the latter. They both turn as someone enters the small aquaria section—Bokuto’s fish guy, Tadashi realizes after a moment. He waves. Fish guy gives a tentative wave back as he eyes the mess.

“Did something happen?” he implores.

“Yeah. It’s no big deal, though.”

Kuroo supplies, “A kid knocked over one of the Betta bowls.”

They wipe up the last of the water and Tadashi’s knees crack when he stands.

“Oh no,” fish guy worries. “Is it alright?”

“He’s fine,” Tadashi grins and points to the temporary plastic tub the Betta resides in. 

The blue fish makes a quick circle around the perimeter, frilly fins flinching with each movement. Fish guy ducks down by the shelf to get a closer look. He cocks his head and Kuroo goes to join him. Tadashi carefully gathers the broken glass from the floor in a dry towel he pulls from his apron.

“Good,” fish guy comments with a nod.

“They’re really cool-looking, huh?” says Kuroo.

“Certainly. I favor this one over here.”

Fish guy points to one of the bowls to his left. Kuroo switches to his other side to peer into glass and hums appreciatively. Next to him, Kuroo looks especially stocky. Tadashi regards the backs of their heads as they converse.

“Whoa, neat. Look at its fins.”

“It really is incredible. The color is so captivating.”

Kuroo turns back. “Tadashi, what kind would this one be?”

“She’s a Rose Tail Betta,” Tadashi answers. “Pretty neat, isn't she?”

Fish guy nods. “Incomparably.”

Okay, Tadashi doesn’t know about _that,_ so he just hums in response. Kuroo nods and nods and nods and Tadashi leaves them to it. He makes his way back to the front counter and wraps the broken pieces of glass in a plastic bag. Tadashi cringes at the horrid sound it makes when it hits the bottom of the trash can under the register.

He walks by Bokuto on his way to the back room, seemingly having a conversation with the shop’s only cockatoo. They’re buddies, Tadashi knows. 

“Kuroo’s talking to your fish guy,” he comments in passing.

“What?!” squawks Bokuto. 

He whirls on his heel and gawks at Tadashi with wide, yellow eyes. Tadashi repeats his statement and Bokuto pushes up his sleeves like he’s about to be thrown into the ring. Behind him, the cockatoo protests the sudden lack of attention. 

“Like hell he is!” Bokuto exclaims and half-sprints, half-marches to the aquaria.

Tadashi props open the door to the back room—the lightbulb is still out—and snickers to himself as he pulls a box of multi-colored tennis balls from a low shelf.

“Too easy, Bokuto,” he mutters to himself. “Too, too, too easy. Easy as pie, as grandpa would say. Though I don’t really know how that makes sense, but hey, too easy is too easy in any case. Too, too, too—”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Tadashi shrieks and flinches. A pink tennis ball flies from the box and rolls across the floor, nudging into Tsukishima’s pristine white converse. Tadashi would put a hand over his heart if he had one free.

“Tsukishima, you need to start announcing yourself. I’m gonna have a freaking heart attack.”

Tsukishima actually looks guilty as he stands in the doorway, his lanky shadow cast wholly over Tadashi. 

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just really jumpy.”

“I’ve gathered that.”

Tsukishima plucks the pink ball from his feet and sets it back in the box Tadashi holds.

“What’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be sick?” Tadashi asks him.

“Not really. I was just home setting up stuff for Zelda.”

“Yeah,” chuckles Tadashi, “Kuroo figured as much.”

“He said that?” Tsukishima wonders. Tadashi nods.

“Though he didn’t quite say it in those words.”

“What words, then?”

“Uh,” Tadashi recalls, “‘he’s probably at home making love to that lizard’, I believe.”

Tsukishima lifts his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. The action is so endearing Tadashi’s face actually flushes slightly and he’s glad Tsukishima’s not looking at him to see it.

“He’s the worst,” Tsukishima groans.

“He’s the best,” Tadashi counters with a grin. “He and Bokuto are fighting over some beautiful guy over by the fish tanks as we speak.”

Tsukishima raises an eyebrow. “Some beautiful guy?”

“Fish guy,” Tadashi clarifies.

“Oh. Wait, Kuroo’s here right _now_?” Tsukishima backpedals.

Tadashi nods and Tsukishima turns, kicks the doorstop into the hallway and grabs the door handle. He’s already swinging it closed when Tadashi pipes up.

“Wait, there’s no light in h—”

The door shuts and the small room falls from dim to pitch black. Tadashi sighs.

“There’s no light in here,” he finishes.

The cardboard box makes a scratchy sound as he shifts it in his arms. He hears Tsukishima exhale in the darkness. The whole vibe reminds Tadashi of dastardly games of seven minutes in heaven played when he was younger, none of which turned out too well.

_It’s not like Kuroo’s gonna randomly burst into the back room of my shop with binoculars and a safari hat, looking specifically for you,_ thinks Tadashi, though the vision amuses him to no end. He tells Tsukishima this much and adjusts his grip on the box once again. Tsukishima’s voice when he responds is even and calm. Tadashi could fall asleep to it.

“I know. But still. I, uh, really need this job.”

“Oh,” Tadashi responds. He’s surprised when Tsukishima goes on.

“This is the first semester I’ve had to pay full rent for an apartment.”

“You don’t have a roommate?” asks Tadashi. 

_Must be nice,_ he thinks, _except for the whole rent part. No one to steal your socks, no one to drink all your soda even when they claim they don’t like it, no one to have food fights with their maybe-boyfriend-maybe-just-friend while you’re trying to study for a physics midterm._

There’s silence.

“I just shook my head,” Tsukishima informs him.

“I see—well, technically I don’t, ha ha, but, um. Did they move out?”

“Yeah. My brother moved for work.”

“Must be weird living alone,” Tadashi voices after a few seconds.

“I love it.”

Tadashi laughs. “Hey, Tsukishima?”

“What?”

“Can we open the door now? This box is getting heavy.”

“Oh, right. Yeah.”

But Tsukishima doesn’t have to open it because one second later the door is pulled ajar from the other side and white light fills the tiny storage room. A backlit Hinata stands in the doorway, beaming. He looks from Tsukishima to Tadashi to the box he holds and back to Tadashi once more.

“Hey guys!” he chirps.

“Hi, Hinata.”

“Don’t mind me,” he goes on, sidling around them. “Just gotta grab some more bird seed for the displays. There. Got it. Okay, you guys go back to doing—whatever it was you were doing back here. See ya!”

He skips from the room and Tadashi rolls his eyes, following him out. The pink tinge looks unnatural on Tsukishima’s pale cheeks as he trails after him. _Get that light bulb changed, Tadashi, don’t forget it this time! Write it down! Ever heard of a post-it?_ he reprimands himself as they make their way to the front of the shop. He sets the box by the register and shakes out his sore arms.

Tsukishima tells him he’ll see him later and ducks out the door.

“Where’d the fish guy go? And Bokuto and Kuroo?” Tadashi asks after he’s left.

“Fish guy left and Kuroo went back next door with Bokuto hot on his heels. It was the best,” Hinata snorts, “Bokuto and Kuroo were circling that guy like a couple of territorial cats. Clumps of fur and broken claws are all over the floor by the fish tanks!”

“You’re fucking with me,” Tadashi retorts.

“Pretty sure _that_ job belongs to the guy I just caught you with in a dark, tiny room.”

Tadashi’s face burns hotly. “Hinata!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know you weren’t doing anything. But that was still pretty funny, Yamaguchi! What was that, anyway?”

“He was hiding from Kuroo ‘cause he called in sick.”

“What’d he want?”

Tadashi blinks. “I don’t know, actually.”

It doesn’t occur to him until then that Tsukishima hadn’t actually asked him anything about Zelda, or anything else for that matter. _He must’ve forgotten_ , thinks Tadashi. He squashes down the warm feeling in his chest.

_Yup, definitely must have forgotten._


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so thrilled about the love this fic is getting! you guys are treasures, for real. all comments, bookmarks, and kudos are sincerely appreciated. p.s. you can find me on tumblr @ deanpendragon.
> 
> now read on!
> 
> //high fives you way too enthusiastically

“And, and, _and_ , Yamaguchi, he doesn’t know anything about fish either!”

“It’s fate.”

“I know! That’s what I’m thinking!”

“Probably not what he’s thinking,” sneers Kuroo, leaning back on his hands in the grass. 

Bokuto made them sit on the ground because the three of them couldn’t fit on the bench together. It’s tight when it’s just Hinata and Tadashi and the former is probably half the size of Bokuto, or maybe even a third of the size of Bokuto. Tadashi will have to stand them side by side later on to double-check this comparison.

“You don’t know that!” barks Bokuto. “He digs me. I could see it in his steely grey eyes.”

“He does have nice eyes,” Kuroo agrees and Bokuto scowls at him. Kuroo rips a handful of grass from between his legs and tosses it at him, saying, “Relax, man. I already told you—he’s not my type.”

“What is your type, exactly?” wonders Tadashi.

Kuroo shrugs. “I dunno. But definitely not people who my best friend’s into.”

Bokuto scrambles to his knees and launches himself into Kuroo’s torso, his thick arms hugging around his middle. Bokuto’s gelled hair doesn’t move when Kuroo pats it fondly. Both Kuroo and Tadashi’s bangs blow into their faces with the summer breeze that blows past.

“You’re the best, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Kuroo claims loftily.

“Bokuto, did you even tell him your name?”

“Yes! I did. I did, right?” Kuroo nods and Bokuto repeats, “I did!”

“Good job,” compliments Tadashi as he spins a blade of grass between his fingers.

“Akaashi’s really cool, you guys,” Bokuto insists, detangling himself from Kuroo. “He’s _majorly_ cool. He’s cooler than me and Tsukishima combined. Like, he’s got that same calm, aloof thing going on that Tsukishima does, except Akaashi’s not a total dick about it. You know?”

“I feel that,” Kuroo concurs. Tadashi just shakes his head.

_Yeah, but does he have an ear piercing? And a fucking pink cartilage ear piercing, at that? Does he have an aversion to clothing that isn't of the black-and-white variety? Can he pull off a backwards baseball cap? Can he provide random animal facts at a moment’s notice like Tsukishima? Ah shit,_ thinks Tadashi with a grin, _that guy is so cool!_

“He says his major is in botany. Fucking _botany,_ you guys! I had to ask him like, twelve times what that meant. It’s plants. Akaashi knows so much about plants!”

“Okay,” concedes Tadashi, “that _is_ pretty cool.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” says Kuroo.

Bokuto beams. “I know, right?”

“Do you even know if he likes guys?”

“Nope,” Bokuto replies, beam still in tact. “But isn’t that half the fun?”

Both Tadashi and Kuroo raise a skeptical eyebrow at him.

“No,” they answer in unison.

* * * * *

Because Hinata’s promised to keep a vigilant eye on them, he and Tadashi take the kittens from the shop home that Friday night. The runty black one is lazier than his brown sisters, so he’s the one Tadashi cradles in his lap all evening while Hinata bounds around the kitchen with the other two skittering on his socked heels.

An hour and a half of that and the kittens are out like lights. Hinata’s almost there himself, beer can slipping from his palm as he sits by Tadashi’s side in front of the television. Tadashi plucks it from his weak grasp and finishes it himself.

“I don’t think I’d be very good in a cooking competition,” Hinata notes.

Tadashi laughs. “Because you’re not very good at _cooking_ , airhead.”

“Yeah, but like, the competition part could be fun.”

“Competitions are only fun if you’re good at the thing.”

Hinata turns to him. “What thing?”

“You know, the thing. Whatever the thing is that you’re doing,” Tadashi babbles and waves his hand in the air in a vague fashion, “in the competition.”

“Like swimming?”

“Sure,” Tadashi answers and cracks open another beer.

“Or snowball fights?”

He takes a drink. It’s warm as it slides down his throat.

“Why not.”

“What about cards?”

“ _Cards?”_ Tadashi parrots and Hinata nods lazily. “Like playing cards?”

“Yeah, you know, poker and stuff.”

“You don’t play poker. I don’t play poker, either. I think maybe Kuroo plays poker. Doesn’t he just _seem_ like he would play poker? Don’t you get that from him?”

“Totally,” snorts Hinata, nabbing Tadashi’s beer and taking a gulp. He winces at the taste and continues, “I bet he’s got tournaments going in his basement every weekend night. Cigars and sunglasses and everything. Oh my god, we should totally crash one.”

“Absolutely, absolutely,” Tadashi agrees with vigor.

He wonders if Tsukishima goes to these poker parties, as hypothetical as they might be. He does have a pretty serious poker face. It could probably win awards. _And the grand prize—these luxurious around-the-world cruise tickets for two and a shiny new Audi A6—goes to Tsukishima Kei for his in-crrrrredible poker face! Give him a hand, ladies and germs! He’s really earned this one!_

Beer dribbles down his chin when Tadashi chuckles. He wipes it with his sleeve and sinks to the floor to lie on the carpet. It’s itchy on his bare back. Absently, he wonders when he’d taken his shirt off. Tadashi attempts to balance the half-empty can on his chest. 

“Are the kittens still sleeping?” he wonders.

“Yup. Sleeping like logs.”

“You sound like Grandpa.”

“My voice is sultry and spritely!”

“No, no, I meant the idiom. And your screechy voice is definitely not sultry _,_ ” he snickers.

Hinata burps and asks, “What’s an idiom?”

“You’re an idiom.”

“ _You’re_ an idiom!” Hinata chirps back.

“You are.”

“You are!”

“I think I like Tsukishima,” says Tadashi.

He swishes the last sip of beer around the bottom of the can. Hinata sits up from where he’d slumped over by Tadashi’s feet.

“The guy who works with Kuroo?”

Tadashi nods, the hair at the back of his head scratching over the cheap carpet of their apartment’s main room. Hinata makes a sound that’s between a squawk and a hoot.

“But he’s so—” Hinata hiccups, “—he’s so tall!”

Tadashi hums. His eyelids feel heavy.

“He totally thinks you’re cute, Tadashi,” giggles Hinata. 

Tadashi brings his hand out to his side, searching for some part of his roommate. He eventually finds his ankle and swats at it. Hinata pulls it from his reach with another squawk and Tadashi decides he’s probably part-bird. _Maybe that’s why Bokuto likes him so much!_

“You’re just talking shit,” Tadashi insists flippantly.

“If you say so. Hey, Yamaguchi.”

“What?”

“D’you think Kuroo plays strip poker?”

Tadashi snorts and throws a hand over his mouth.

“Without a doubt!”

“I know, right?”

* * * * *

Tadashi is so used to Bokuto fleeing the scene whenever his fish guy—Akaashi, Tadashi knows now—comes in that he’s utterly shocked one Thursday when Bokuto rushes him the second he sets foot in Wags and Whiskers.

“Akaashi! You’re back!”

“Of course I’m back, Bokuto-san. I come here often. Have you not noticed?”

From behind the counter, Tadashi barks out a laugh. He’s pretty sure Akaashi’s visits are the one thing Bokuto has noticed most in his entire year of employment at the pet shop, considering Tadashi has rearranged the aisles twice in the last four months and Bokuto hadn’t said a damn word either time. Though, interestingly enough, he'd noticed when Tadashi changed the food bowl in the cockatiel cage from yellow to blue plastic. But Tadashi had anticipated that one.

“I noticed, I noticed. So what’s up?”

Akaashi points a finger toward the aquaria.

“I was going to look at the fish.”

“Akaashi, always with the fish!”

“Yes,” he confirms.

“You know what, you should check out some of the other animals,” Bokuto suggests, clapping him on the back. Akaashi looks stoic as usual and Bokuto goes on, “It’s not fair that the fish get all your attention, Akaashi. Think about the poor rabbits and kittens and the _birds_ , oh my god, Akaashi, the birds!”

“They’re his favorites,” Tadashi comments.

“They’re totally my favorites!” Bokuto emphasizes.

He stares with big eyes as Akaashi contemplates. Tadashi wonders if it’s not just Bokuto’s friends who find Bokuto totally endearing. Akaashi folds easily.

“Alright, Bokuto-san. Show me the birds.”

“Sweet! This way, this way!”

Tadashi watches them bound (well, Bokuto bounds; Akaashi slinks) to the bird cages.

“It’s kind of incredible how his nerves went away as soon as he actually started talking to him, you know?” Tadashi asks Hinata when he comes to stand at the counter. 

Hinata flips the empty dustpan in his hand and makes an assenting sound. The two of them watch as Bokuto takes the cockatoo from its cage. The bird easily latches onto his shoulder and Akaashi raises his hand to stroke his knuckle against the white feathers on its chest.

“He looks pleased.”

“Who?” hoots Hinata. “Bokuto or Salazar? Or Akaashi?”

“All of them,” Tadashi decides with a grin.

He turns his attention out the window. Two beautiful blonde girls cross the parking lot and Tadashi watches until they’re out of view (probably going to the modeling place next door, he figures). But the sunlight doesn’t catch their hair even half as brilliantly as it does Tsukishima’s. 

He sits on Tadashi’s favorite bench, a set of white headphones over his ears. Tadashi catches himself sighing dreamily. Hinata follows his gaze.

“A long sleeve shirt on a day like today?” he marvels at Tadashi’s side.

Tadashi beams. _He’s so cool,_ he thinks, _the heat probably doesn’t even get to him!_

“Oh my god, that was so lame,” he snickers to himself.

“What was?” asks Hinata.

“Me.”

“Nah,” Hinata reassures automatically. He gasps like he’s thought of something brilliant and gives Tadashi’s shoulder a shove. Hinata asks, “Why don’t you go eat with him, Yamaguchi? He’s gotta be lonely!”

“I think he likes to be alone,” Tadashi answers distractedly.

Hinata huffs and sprints off through the store. Bokuto and Akaashi have left the birds and now hover over the rabbit enclosure on the opposite wall. Tadashi watches Akaashi watch Hinata—completely unfazed, Tadashi might add—as he sprints back to the front counter with Tadashi’s bagged lunch in his hands. He thrusts it toward him with a blinding smile.

“C’mon, Yamaguchi,” he encourages. 

Tadashi rolls his eyes. He takes his lunch into his freckled hands.

“‘Kay. You win,” he tells Hinata, but it feels more like a victory for himself than anyone.

* * * * *

“I’m having a hard time finding vines for her,” Tsukishima says before he bites into an apple. After he swallows, he adds, “As well as a suitable ficus tree.”

Tadashi hums and takes a bite of his own apple; red while Tsukishima’s is green.

“We should really supply that stuff,” he says, “but it’s too much of a pain to house live plants _and_ animals, you know?”

“I don’t really know much about plants.”

“Really?” asks Tadashi. 

He sort of figured Tsukishima knew a lot of things about everything. The sun glints off Tsukishima’s glasses when he turns to look at him.

“No,” he answers. “Do you?”

Tadashi shakes his head. “But, hey! That beautiful guy—you know, Bokuto’s fish guy—he’s in the shop right now, and he’s a botany major. I bet he could tell you where you could find a ficus tree. Want me to ask him?”

Tsukishima shifts on the small bench. They’re so close that their hips nearly touch. _Bless this tiny bench,_ thinks Tadashi for the first time ever, _why did I ever want it to be any bigger?!_ There’s silence while Tadashi considers an even smaller bench, one where maybe he had to sit on Tsukishima’s lap or something. He’s thrown from his daydream when Tsukishima speaks.

“You think he’s beautiful?”

“Huh?” Tadashi grunts unintelligibly, thinking he hasn’t heard him right.

“The botany major. You think he’s beautiful, then?” Tsukishima says again, head cocked in a concentrated fashion like he thinks Tadashi might reply to him in French or something.

“Well,” struggles Tadashi, “he _is_ beautiful, I mean, it’s not like I—I mean, it’s like when you see a painting and you think, _hey, that’s a real nice painting_ but that’s kind of the extent of it, you know? Because you don’t really know the painting all that well. So you’ve just gotta look at it objectively for the time being. And it’s a beautiful painting, sure, but you wouldn’t hang it in your house or anything. It’s probably too expensive for you to buy, anyway—if it’s even for sale I mean, which it’s probably not—and if you steal it, the museum would have you arrested.”

Tsukishima honest-to-god _grins_ at him, slowly but surely, and Tadashi blushes from head to toe.

“Could that have been any more disjointed?” he asks helplessly.

“I get it.”

“You do?”

“Sure,” Tsukishima says and takes another bite from his green apple. 

Tadashi watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and his blush deepens. He shifts his gaze to the white headphones around Tsukishima’s neck, the brand name written in a shiny metallic that glints in the harsh sunlight. Quiet music hums from them in the short silence.

“If you could ask about where to find a ficus,” Tsukishima says a minute later, “that would be helpful.”

Tadashi smiles. “Okay. No problem.” 

_Sweet! Another excuse to come talk to you again,_ he rejoices, although it’s not like he had one this time around. The wind whips at the grass. It tickles his ankles and Tadashi swings his feet forward to plant the heels of his sneakers into the soft earth. He tilts his face upward and closes his eyes, letting the sunlight warm his face. He takes a deep, slow breath.

“This is my favorite spot to eat lunch,” he exhales.

“Is that so? This bench is kind of small.”

Tadashi gulps. _I’m sorry! I’ll build you a bigger one! Am I sitting too close? I can sit on the grass, if you want. I’m cool with nature. Or you can—whichever is fine! Come to think of it, we both can! Let’s have a picnic. Do people still have picnics?_

“Not that I mind,” adds Tsukishima flatly, like he’s commenting on the weather or the migration patterns of Canadian geese.

“Do people still go on picnics?” blurts Tadashi.

Tsukishima blinks at him. Tadashi blinks back.

“I think it’s more of a date or a family activity than anything.”

“Oh,” Tadashi replies dumbly. 

“Do you go on picnics?” Tsukishima asks him.

Tadashi doesn’t, but he thinks it might be a nice idea to do with his grandparents or something. He tells Tsukishima this much and Tsukishima hums in approval.

“You should do that,” he says.

“I should,” agrees Tadashi. 

Tadashi can’t make out the bright pink of his earring against the equally bright blond of Tsukishima’s hair. The two of them stare at each other for a long second, amber eyes linked with copper ones. A dull beat pumps from Tsukishima’s headphones. Tadashi blushes despite himself.

They turn their gazes up toward the blue summer sky.

* * * * *

Hinata Shouyou is Tadashi’s best friend. He really, really is.

But Hinata has a big fucking mouth, and Tadashi’s not talking about the fact that he can fit his entire fist in it (Kageyama almost choked once trying to match him on that). The thing is that Hinata can’t keep a secret to save his life. Tadashi has known this since he was fifteen years old and blames himself—as well as his fourth beer, damn it, Tadashi—for voicing any kind of _crush_ or _infatuation_ or _otherwise_ he has on a certain music shop employee.

“Can we all please go back to work?” he pleads.

“He bought a lizard just to talk to you,” claims Bokuto, beefy arms crossed over his chest.

“Not so! He likes creatures.” Hinata and Bokuto eye him curiously and he adds, “…His words.”

“What a weirdo!”

“Please go sweep,” Tadashi insists and shoos Hinata away.

Once he skitters off, Bokuto slides up to the counter. 

“Do you think he’s into you?” he asks.

“Eh. I dunno,” shrugs Tadashi. “He kind of seems like one of those guys who’d have a cool, edgy girlfriend who wears crop tops and smokes cigarettes. You know?”

“That’s pretty specific. Hey, I’ve got some crop tops if you want to borrow them.”

“I’m good, Bokuto. Thanks.” Tadashi wipes down the counter even though it’s immaculate. “Wait, you own crop tops?”

“Yep. It was Kuroo’s idea.”

Tadashi makes an amused sound and leans onto his elbows. _I’m not nearly built enough to wear crop tops,_ he muses, _but Bokuto and Kuroo are built like brick shithouses. What a sight that must be. I’m too skinny, probably. Not to mention my lack of abs. I’m so skinny! So, so, so—_

“Not that I wasn’t totally on board with it,” Bokuto snorts.

Tadashi bumps their knuckles together when Bokuto holds his fist out.

“Obviously, yeah.”

“I could ask Kuroo if you want.”

“I doubt his crop tops would suit me any more than yours would, Bo.”

“No, no. I meant about Tsukishima. And his girlfriend, or probable lack of one.”

“Why’s that probable?”

“He’s kind of a dick.”

Tadashi frowns. “He’s not that bad.”

“To you, maybe.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“Of course! So,” Bokuto starts with enthusiasm, “it was a _really super_ hot day last summer. Even our tank tops weren’t doing the trick, Yamaguchi, I shit you not. So Kuroo goes, ‘dude, we have such nice bodies’ and I thought he was just being full of himself, ‘cause he can get that like sometimes, you know—only sometimes—but he actually had a point. But it’s not like you have to have a real nice bod to wear crop tops, ‘cause that’s just unfair. Anyways, Yamaguchi, we found this pair of scissors…”

* * * * *

“If you’re so desperate for a date, why don’t you go out with me?” Tadashi hears when he walks into Offbeat on Monday morning. He pauses with one hand on the glass pane of the door and watches Tsukishima flip a page in the magazine he reads, entirely disinterested.

“Never,” he drones. “And I’m not _desperate_ for anything, so.”

“Is that right?” teases Kuroo from someplace Tadashi can’t see.

“Yes. It is. Besides, I thought you were involved with the guy with the hair who works next door.”

“Bokuto?”

“Yeah.”

“What?” cackles Kuroo. “No! What me and Bokuto have is strictly platonic.”

“Oh,” says Tsukishima and closes his magazine completely. “Is it one of those ‘no homo’ things?”

“I didn’t say _that_.”

“Right.”

Tadashi steps fully into the shop and outright laughs. Tsukishima looks over to him and inexplicably turns three shades of red. Tadashi instantly misses his trademark pale complexion. He skips to the counter.

“Hi,” he lilts.

Tsukishima adjusts his glasses. “Hey.”

“They made out in the middle of campus once on a dare,” Tadashi tells him.

“A classic platonic act,” quips Tsukishima.

Tadashi grins. “So, so classic.”

Kuroo saunters around the corner to stand in front of them with a casual hand on his hip.

“You can make out with someone and not be into them,” he insists. “It’s twenty-sixteen for god’s sake. It’s just a little lip-on-lip action. Tsukishima, you’ve seriously never made out with someone just because you felt like it?”

Tsukishima busies himself with arranging his magazine parallel to the counter’s edge.

“What would be the point of that?” he answers distractedly.

Half of Tadashi wants to agree like, _yeah, what’s the point of that even?!_ and the other half of him goes, _let’s make a list of people we’d probably make out with for no reason, okay, self? One, two, three…go!_

“Well, you’re a different breed. I know Tadashi would.”

They both turn to him and Tadashi’s thrown from his mental task. He stares between the two of them.

“Why me?” he asks, affronted.

“I was there on your twentieth birthday, man. You were like the make out _king_.”

“Oh my god,” groans Tadashi, hiding his face in his hands.

It’s true. Tadashi _does_ like to make out, okay, and it’s no secret. But if he’s honest with himself, he’d also like very much to make out with Tsukishima and this information probably won’t help to bring that situation about. Besides, it was his _birthday_.

“Really?” asks Tsukishima.

“Definitely. Two different waiters. And one waitress. _And_ they were on the clock!”

Tadashi groans again, “Tetsu, _please_ —”

“They basically got paid to make out with Tadashi. Can you imagine?”

“Am I supposed to answer that?” Tsukishima wonders.

“No,” Tadashi answers quickly. “And I don’t remember that!”

Kuroo squeezes his shoulder and coos, “You’re never supposed to admit that. Sweet, naive Tadashi.”

“Hey!”

“You’re too perfect, you know that?”

“Ass,” huffs Tadashi. “Don’t you have something to be doing?”

“Don’t you?” Kuroo fires back with a smirk.

“Yeah. But Bokuto’s doing it.”

“Awesome,” he comments as he stalks off. “Need to get me one of those for around here. Tsukishima doesn’t do squat.”

Tsukishima glares at Kuroo’s back as he retreats. “I help you out just fine.”

“Right, right,” calls Kuroo dismissively.

“Then why’d you hire me?” grumbles Tsukishima.

“‘Cause you’re nice to look at!”

Kuroo disappears into the back room and Tsukishima turns back to Tadashi. 

“How did he hear that?”

Tadashi tells him, “He’s got ears like a cat. Don’t worry, though. He’s just kidding. About hiring you because you’re nice to look at, I mean.” He stammers on when Tsukishima raises an eyebrow at him, “Not that you’re not—I just meant that Kuroo wouldn’t do that. But you _are—_ wait, I mean you’re _not_ , um, shit. Where was I going with this?”

Tsukishima’s eyes glint with amusement. “I’m not sure.”

“Right, well. I, uh—I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“By what? You didn’t say anything.”

Tadashi blinks, completely distracted by the shine in Tsukishima’s eyes. He thinks that Tsukishima’s crop top-wearing, cigarette-smoking girlfriend is super lucky. _Gross,_ thinks Tadashi, _I bet she tastes like tobacco when they kiss! Not me, though! Not me, Tsukishima!_

“Did I not?” he asks. Tsukishima shakes his head. “Fantastic. I would totally duck out of here in embarrassment, but there’s actually a reason I came in. Here.”

He produces a half-piece of paper from his pocket, ripped neatly from the back of his school notebook. Their fingers touch when Tsukishima takes it from him. 

“Akaashi said they have ficus trees at this place. The number is on there too, just in case.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Tsukishima says.

He folds the paper over once and then once more. Tadashi watches his pale fingers and clean, white fingernails press down the creases. Tadashi absently twists his own fingers together behind his back.

“I could come with you, if you want,” he suggests on a whim. 

Tsukishima looks up at him. 

“You know, because you said you don’t know much about plants. It’d be easier to find it if we looked together. Or not. Either way—”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” questions Tadashi, a beam erupting on his face.

Tsukishima nods. “Sure. Okay.”

When Tadashi looks back down to the counter, Tsukishima’s crafted the half-sheet into a tiny paper airplane.

“Make out king?” Tsukishima inquires belatedly.

Tadashi’s face heats up with a pink blush.

“It was my _birthday_.”

* * * * *

The dozens of different shades of green scattered about the nursery contrast wildly against Tsukishima’s monochromatic clothing. He and Tadashi tower over most of the smaller houseplants, so Tadashi kneels down periodically to get a better look.

“This one looks kind of similar to the picture? I guess?” he reports, scratching his chin.

“The leaves are too broad.”

“You think so?”

Tsukishima nods and Tadashi stands. They circle around the tallest tree in the center of the greenhouse and Tadashi lays his hand flat on its wide trunk.

“We should just ask someone,” suggests Tsukishima.

Tadashi taps his fingers on the bark. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Tsukishima makes an assenting noise and comes to stand next to him. Tadashi stares at the slight space between their hands when Tsukishima rests his palm against the cool bark as well.

“This reminds me of the trees I used to climb when I was little,” Tadashi tells him.

“Oh?”

“Yep. I was _so_ good at it, Tsukishima.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Tadashi watches Tsukishima’s pale fingers drum against the bark with a dull sound.

“Until I fell from the very top once,” he carries on, “and then my grandparents didn’t let me climb them anymore. I broke my leg _and_ gashed up my thigh. I still have a scar.”

Tsukishima raises a concerned eyebrow. “That’s terrifying, Yamaguchi.”

“Yeah,” agrees Tadashi, “I don’t know why I just told you that.”

“Scars are cool,” Tsukishima comments.

He’s haloed by the afternoon sunlight that streams through the glass ceiling of the greenhouse, a corona of brightness crowning his untidy blond hair. Tadashi’s phone burns in his pocket. He wants to take a picture. Instead, he bends over and lifts the right leg of his shorts to his mid-thigh to reveal a thin, jagged scar.

“See?” he asks.

_Your white pants! They’re gonna get all dirty,_ he thinks as Tsukishima lowers himself onto his knees to inspect. _Do you bleach them? Do you bleach all your white clothes? That’s probably how they stay so stark, huh?_

Tadashi spooks when Tsukishima runs his fingertip over the raised skin.

“Sorry,” he insists even as he does it once more, so slowly.

“You’re fine,” breathes Tadashi. “Pretty neat, right?”

“Entirely. I’ve got a wicked scar on my back.”

“You do?”

Tsukishima nods. When he looks up at him from his place on the ground, butterflies cartwheel through Tadashi’s chest. He scolds them.  _Can’t you guys fly?_

“I’ll let you see it sometime.”

The butterflies take flight and throw their tiny, fluttering bodies against Tadashi’s ribcage.

“Okay. Yeah, cool,” he says with effort.

He gives a compulsive shiver when Tsukishima taps lightly at his scar once more. Tsukishima abruptly stands and turns from him, but not quick enough that Tadashi doesn’t see the pretty crimson that blooms over his cheeks. Tadashi gets the distinct feeling he’s done something wrong. He shifts his weight from foot to foot and stares at the hood of Tsukishima’s black sweatshirt, adorned with a single white crescent moon. Tadashi’s eyes follow the curve of it.

“Anyway, we should keep looking,” Tsukishima suggests.

If it weren’t for the multitude of plants that surround them, Tadashi would have forgotten why they're here.

“Right,” he chirps. “Let’s go.”

* * * * *

“I thought it was a ficus tree that we were looking for,” Tadashi regales to Hinata and Bokuto as he feeds the fish that night after closing, “and we ended up getting a weeping fig. But you know what?”

“Aren’t they the same thing?” Bokuto responds as he leans heavily against the tanks.

Tadashi furrows his brow. “How’d you know that?”

“Akaashi’s taught me some things.”

“Gross,” laughs Hinata.

“About _plants_ , pervert!”

“Yeah,” continues Tadashi, “they’re the same thing. That’s what Tsukishima said.”

“I thought he said he didn’t know much about plants.”

He drops a handful of flakes into the tetra tank and watches as the fish glide quickly to the surface.

“Yeah, well, apparently Tsukki and I have very different ideas of what not knowing ‘that much’ means.”

Bokuto and Hinata share an amused look. Tadashi squints at them.

“What?” he asks.

“Wait, who are we talking about?” inquires Hinata, cocking his head.

“Tsukishima?”

Bokuto snickers, “You called him ‘Tsukki’. Motherfucking _Tsukki!_ That’s so cute! Holy shit!”

Tadashi blinks. “I did?”

His friends nod enthusiastically.

“Oh,” says Tadashi. “My bad. Anyways, Zelda looked _so_ happy, you guys.”

* * * * *

“You said she falls asleep to soft music, is that right?” Tsukishima asks one morning, apropos of nothing.

Tadashi has quite literally just unlocked the front door (though they officially open at nine, customers don’t usually show up until half-past). The dirty water sloshes around when Tadashi dunks the mop back in the bucket.

“Huh?” he grunts.

“Zelda. You said she falls asleep to soft music.”

“Right,” Tadashi answers slowly.

Tsukishima blinks at him and pushes his glasses further up his nose.

“Are you alright?” he inquires.

“Totally. Totally! I practically just woke up, is all.”

Tsukishima turns his head to double-check the schedule printed on the shop’s door.

“We’re technically open,” Tadashi says through a yawn. “Just haven’t had my coffee yet.”

“Oh.”

“So what were you asking me?”

Tsukishima shifts his weight from foot to foot—something Tadashi’s never seen him do. _I didn’t mean to make you feel bad!_ Tadashi frets. _It’s my fault, I should be awake by now! Talk to me, talk to me, I’m cool, talk to me—_

“I was thinking about letting music play for her in my apartment while I’m at work.”

“Her?” mimics Tadashi.

Tsukishima cocks his head. It’s only a little bit totally goddamn adorable.

“Zelda,” he answers after a second. “Is there another ‘her’ in my apartment when I’m gone?”

_You tell me,_ thinks Tadashi.

“Right, right. You’d leave music on for her?”

“You said she liked it—that it relaxed her. I thought it might be nice. But I wanted your opinion.”

Tadashi bites his lip but it doesn’t stop an involuntary beam from breaking out over his tired face.

“So cute,” he fawns.

Only in Tsukishima's silence does Tadashi realize how quiet the shop actually is.

“What?” Tadashi inquires.

Tsukishima cocks his head again. “Cute?” he repeats.

“What are—oh my god. Oh, oh my god,” barks Tadashi, knuckles going white as his grip on the mop handle tightens, “did I say that out loud?”

Tsukishima nods and Tadashi’s heart falls into his stomach.  _You’ve ruined this whole thing. Where’s your filter, Tadashi! Find it! Find it and utilize it!_

“Holy shit, I’m really sorry,” he insists.

Tsukishima’s gaze is soft like cotton.

“For what?” he implores, voice just as gentle. He steps forward.

“Careful,” Tadashi warns in lieu of an answer, “I just mopped there.”

“Cute? Me?”

Tadashi stares hard at the floor. _Unbearably so!_

“No, I—sorry, Tsukishima, I just wasn’t thinking,” laughs Tadashi, “y’know. Coffee and all that, uh. I’m pretty much delirious before noon.”

Tsukishima takes another step on the wet tile. Tadashi surely would have slipped and broken his tailbone and probably an ankle too, but Tsukishima remains steady; the very picture of grace. Tadashi can practically see his halo. The thought just makes him blush harder and he figures the heat of his face rivals that of the summer sun outside.

“Are you sure?” Tsukishima asks genuinely, head tilting just a degree further.

Tadashi gulps audibly.

“Yeah, totally,” he lies, “my bad.”

Visibly and inexplicably, Tsukishima deflates. Tadashi wants to leap through the front window of the shop and lie on the rough pavement of the sidewalk. _Leave me be,_ he’ll tell Bokuto when he arrives, _I don’t deserve it, but do it anyway. Me and my dumbass mouth, calling cute guys cute right to their faces when they’re way too cool for me anyway. His girlfriend would be so pissed at me. Sew my lips shut, Bo, like that girl in that one movie. What was it called again?_

“Alright, then,” drones Tsukishima, voice flat like paper. “I’ll see you later, Yamaguchi.”

Tadashi blinks. “Didn’t you want to talk about the music thing?”

“We can do that later. I should probably get next door.”

Tadashi eyes the clock behind the front counter; Offbeat doesn’t open for another half hour. Regret wraps a length of twine around his gut and pulls tight. He smiles at Tsukishima regardless.

“Okay, yeah, of course,” Tadashi replies. “I’ll be here.”


	4. four

They actually do talk about the music thing a couple of days later, when Tadashi’s buried his embarrassment and no longer believes Tsukishima will beat him up for what he’s said. Tadashi does note that Tsukishima sits just as close to him on the bench across the shop’s parking lot as before. He also realizes that the bench provides little to no alternative to sitting really, really close (and he is totally and completely fine with this).

“Do you have a playlist or something?”

Tadashi coughs a laugh around his orange slice.

“Called what,” he asks, “‘lullabies for lizards’?”

“‘Ragtime for reptiles’,” Tsukishima supplements.

“‘Scores for synapsids’.”

“‘Hard rock for herbivores’.”

“I thought you wanted it to be soothing?”

Tsukishima shrugs. “Still good.”

“Completely,” agrees Tadashi. “‘Chameleon quartets’.”

Tsukishima barks a quick laugh and Tadashi absolutely glows.

“Perfect,” Tsukishima insists. “I admire the ambiguity. Are they quartets for chameleons? Or quartets that consist of actual chameleons?”

“That’s the mystery.”

“It suppose it is.”

“What’s this?” interjects Kuroo from behind them, slapping his hands on their opposite shoulders. He goes on, “You’ll be playful with Tadashi but not with me?”

Tsukishima grimaces and turns to Tadashi.

He says of Kuroo, “We need to put a bell on him.”

“And again!” Kuroo wails.

His head on a swivel, Tadashi tries to calculate the route Kuroo must have taken in order to sneak up on them, considering the position of the bench on which they sit. Though Tadashi wouldn’t be surprised if he’s a closet parkour master or something similarly obscure and impressive. He makes a mental note to clandestinely ask Bokuto.

Tsukishima adds, “Or maybe a leash or something.”

“Gross,” sneers Kuroo. “We have no interest in your weird kinks, Tsukishima.”

“Oh my god,” Tadashi laughs behind his hand.

“I hate this. I hate whatever’s happening,” deadpans Tsukishima. “Is my break over?”

Kuroo hops over the bench, plops next to Tadashi, and drapes his arm over his shoulders. His skin is cool on the back of Tadashi’s neck from the air conditioning inside.

“Sure is,” Kuroo says. “Can I have some of that?”

Tadashi hands him the half of his orange he hasn’t separated into pieces yet.

“Here.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

“Any time. I should probably go back in too, though.”

“But I just got here,” complains Kuroo.

“I can send Bokuto out here, if you want?” Tadashi asks and stands when Tsukishima does.

Kuroo turns his attention to the fruit and takes a bite. 

“That’d be great,” he answers with his mouth full.

“ _You’re_ great,” Tadashi says back.

Kuroo slaps his hand over his heart. “You flatter me.”

“I try.”

“You succeed.”

“So, any music?” Tsukishima asks a minute later as they hover on the sidewalk outside the strip.

“I don’t have anything specific in mind,” Tadashi tells him as he twists and untwists his fingers behind his back, “but I can throw something together, I bet. I’ve got tons of instrumental stuff for studying. I can send you the tracklist, if you want?”

“Yeah. Do that.”

“Totally. Do you have an email, or—?”

“You can just text it to me.”

Tadashi’s fingers still.

“Oh,” he says, taken aback. “Yeah?”

Tsukishima stares somewhere over his shoulder. “If you want.”

_I do,_ Tadashi thinks excitedly, _I do want!_

He skips into Wags and Whiskers seconds later, phone heavy in his pocket with the total _gold_ that is Tsukishima’s phone number. 

“You look happy,” Akaashi tells him from where he stands near the bird cages. Lately, he’s started to frequent that corner of the shop even more than the aquaria. Tadashi absently wonders if Bokuto’s noticed this development.

“I do?” implores Tadashi, still beaming. “I do, do I? Do I? I do.”

Hinata pops up from beneath the counter, face pulled into one of mock terror.

“Yamaguchi’s broken!”

“Say what?” calls Bokuto from the stock room.

“Yamaguchi! He’s broken! Somebody broke Yamaguchi!”

“Somebody fix him,” Bokuto demands as he sprints to the front of the store. “Somebody get that man a coffee, for God’s sakes! A chocolate bar! A dirty magazine! Something, anything! Don’t just stand there, Akaashi! Help the man!”

“He’s a goner! He’s a goner!” chants Hinata.

Tadashi turns to Akaashi.

“Do you regret your decision to be a regular here yet?” Tadashi jests over Bokuto and Hinata’s hysterics.

Akaashi gives him a gentle grin. 

“Not in the slightest.”

* * * * *

Bokuto and Akaashi stand at the front counter and discuss the trials and tribulations of flying fish.

“It’s the best of both worlds!”

“How so, Bokuto-san?”

“Think about it. You’re swimming along, enjoying the underwater sights and then…” Tadashi flinches when Bokuto shouts, “ _Bam!_ Suddenly you’re up out of the water, getting a prime view of the shore and sky.”

Akaashi taps a finger against his chin. “I suppose so,” he says.

“How high do they even get when they shoot out of the water?” wonders Tadashi.

He directs his question to Tsukishima who stands away from them, hip leaning on the edge of the counter.

“About four feet,” he and Akaashi answer in unison.

Bokuto gapes at the latter. Akaashi stares blankly back at him.

“How’d you know that, Akaashi?!”

Akaashi shrugs.

“Well, Tsukishima,” Bokuto boasts as he swings an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders, “looks like you’ve got some competition on the animal trivia front, eh?”

Tsukishima squints at him, affronted. Tadashi snorts a laugh behind his hand. 

Akaashi slides gracefully from Bokuto’s grip. “Certainly not, Bokuto-san.”

“You know you can just call me Bokuto, right?”

“Besides,” Akaashi continues like he doesn't even hear him, “I have no idea why I know that. It’s pretty much just plants that I know about.”

“Akaashi, don’t sell yourself short!”

“I’m not, Bokuto-san.”

“We should have an _official_ trivia night,” rambles Bokuto. “We’ll all write random-ass questions on slips of paper and pull them out of a top hat. We’ll get buzzers and a scoreboard and everything. Yamaguchi can wear a cape.”

“Why do I have to wear a cape?”

“Because it goes with the hat.”

“What the fuck,” Tsukishima snickers and promptly strolls away when Bokuto shoots him a glare. 

The cockatiels chirp passionately and the remaining three of them turn to the cages.

“You don’t pay enough attention to them anymore, Bo,” Tadashi tells him. “Especially when Akaashi’s here. You’re always over by the fish. They get jealous.”

Bokuto whips around to gawk at him and a pink Akaashi raises an eyebrow.

“You really think so?!” frets Bokuto, his yellow eyes huge with concern. He goes on when Tadashi nods, “It’s not my fault! Akaashi’s just so pretty and cool! But you’re still my favorites—the fish mean nothing to me, I swear!”

If Akaashi wasn’t blushing before, he sure is now. Bokuto pays no mind.

He sprints over to the birds, cawing, “It’s okay, guys! I’m here now! How’ve you been?”

Tadashi and Akaashi exchange smiles. The latter complements his with an eye roll but trails after Bokuto anyway a minute later. Bokuto lets the birds tap at his fingers through the bars of the cage and Tadashi watches Akaashi’s pretty grin before turning his attention to Tsukishima, who’s just as pretty but in a different, subtler way that Tadashi can't quite put his finger on yet.

Tadashi rings up a tiny pink dog collar for a customer before he goes over to him.

Tsukishima pokes at the different cat toys on the shelf. Tadashi watches his fingers as they slide up one of the feather wands. _Such nice hands_ , Tadashi fawns internally, _so pale. I bet they’re smooth too._

“I don’t care much for cats,” Tsukishima says as Tadashi wonders if he moisturizes or not.

“What about kittens?”

Tsukishima shrugs. “Same difference.”

Without Bokuto’s enthusiastic babbling, the shop goes unnaturally quiet. Tadashi peers over the aisles to find he and Akaashi talking amongst themselves, nearby bird cages forgotten.

Tadashi slinks over to the aisle closest to them—hamster and small rodent supply—and ducks down, bare knees against the cool tile of the shop’s floor. He only notices Tsukishima has followed him when he sees his pristine white converse in his peripheral. He peers down at him and kneels to mirror Tadashi when he pulls at his pant leg.

“Eavesdropping, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima quietly teases, “really?”

Tadashi shushes him and concentrates on listening.

“Did you mean that?” he hears Akaashi ask.

“Huh?”

“You said I was cool.”

“Totally, Akaashi. I think you’re totally cool.”

There’s a short pause in which Tadashi hears Tsukishima’s steady breathing in his ear. It’s so pleasant and distracting that he almost misses when Akaashi speaks again, hesitant this time.

“…It doesn’t bother you all?” he asks.

“What doesn’t?” inquires Bokuto.

“That I come in here so often.”

“Why the heck would that bother us?”

“Well, I never buy anything. The manager, your friend—Yamaguchi—he must hate me.”

Bokuto barks a laugh. “No way. Tadashi’s a total sweetheart.”

Tsukishima gives him a sideways glance and Tadashi blushes despite himself.

“But—do _you_ mind it, Bokuto-san?” mutters Akaashi.

It’s not even his conversation, but Tadashi holds his breath. He can picture it: Bokuto’s cocked head, his face pinched in confusion, owlish eyes blinking slowly.

“Are you kidding?” he asks with another laugh. “I look forward to it.”

“I see…”

He goes on flippantly, “You don’t have to worry about _that_ , Akaashi.”

“Then I won’t. Thank you, Bokuto-san.”

“You don’t have to thank me, either.”

There’s another bit of silence. Tadashi glances over to Tsukishima who stares hard at the floor beneath them. He looks up when Tadashi nudges him just because he’s there and he can.

“They really are beautiful, aren’t they?” muses Akaashi.

“Sure are.”

They’ve turned back to the bird cages. 

* * * * *

Akaashi hands in a job application the next day.

He sets it gently on the counter like it’s made of glass, using both hands and watching with attentive eyes as Tadashi picks it up. Tadashi’s not sure why he didn’t just ask Akaashi before this if he wanted the job. It makes all kinds of sense.

“You’re hired.”

“Are you sure?” Akaashi asks uncertainly.

“Of course. You’re perfect for it. I’ll even give you most of the aquaria tasks.”

Tadashi gulps when Akaashi aims a stellar grin right at him.

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate this, Yamaguchi.”

“Don’t mention it. And when you _do_ mention it—to Bokuto, I mean—be careful,” warns Tadashi with a lilt. “He might do literal backflips through the wall of the store. And then we’ll all have to patch it up. Including you, since you work here now, too.”

“What?!” comes a yelp from outside. Tadashi winces.

It’s particularly hot today, so the door to Wags and Whiskers is propped open. Bokuto stands in the doorway, a ginormous bag of dog food slung over his shoulder and a look of absolute bliss on his sweaty face.

“Akaashi, you’re working here now?!” he crows.

“I just hired him,” Tadashi says.

“That’s great news! No, better than great; it’s awesome! Awesome, awesome news!”

“I’m glad you think so, Bokuto-san.”

Akaashi barely has a chance to get his statement out before Bokuto drops his cargo with a worrisome  _thud_ and leaps onto his back, slinging his arms around his neck to keep himself there. Tadashi watches with sympathetic eyes. It’s actually sort of impressive that Akaashi holds him so steadily.

“You’re going to break my spine,” he deadpans.

“Am not.”

“You’re heavy.”

“It’s all muscle!”

“I don’t doubt this.”

“So you’ve noticed, eh, Akaashi?”

“I do have eyes, Bokuto-san.”

“How many pounds of pressure does it take to to snap a human spine?” Tadashi wonders aloud and promptly texts the question to Tsukishima. 

His response is immediate: ‘ _a lot. it’s much easier to break a human neck, which takes about 1k foot-lbs of torque. who are you going to murder’._

Tadashi quirks an eyebrow and asks aloud, “What the hell’s a torque?”

Tsukishima texts again: ‘ _can i help’._

Tadashi’s reply is just as quick: _‘definitely..Meet me behind the grocery store at midnight wearing all black with a hookshot and the dominion rod.’_

Tadashi barks out a delighted laugh when he gets Tsukishima’s next message. When his heart beats just a little quicker in his chest, Tadashi blames the heat even though he’s not sure how much sense that actually makes. _Damn you, summer_ , he muses, _don’t mess with my organs like this, you hear me?_

Tsukishima says: ‘ _they’re already in the trunk of my car. and i’m already wearing all black. bring an oocca in case we get into some real shit’._

Tadashi holds his phone to his chest. His smile refuses to relent but he doesn’t respond because if he does, it will be something embarrassing like ‘ _let me take you on a date!!’_ , ‘ _you’re really funny i hope you know that’_ , or ‘ _you’re way too cool for me to have your phone number in the first place tbh_ ’.

He blushes so hard at all the possibilities that he leaves his phone turned off the entire rest of the day.

* * * * *

“Yamaguchi is a top!”  


“Seven syllables,” notes Tsukishima as he strokes his chin, “that’s impressive.”

Tadashi gawks at him, arms crossed over his chest and eyebrows pinched together.

“Impressive?” he squawks. “It’s terrible. It’s literally awful, Tsukishima. How’s that impressive?”

“You hear about parrots saying ‘how are you’ and ‘hello’ and variations of similar statements, but those are all simple, consistently repeated phrases. Unlike...” Tsukishima pauses. “Um, unlike what this one has taken to.”

“Fifty,” Kageyama sneers from behind them.

“Fifty what?” asks Tsukishima.

“It took fifty tries before he mimicked me. Pretty cool, isn’t it?”

It’s been one week. The African Grey has been at the shop for _one_ _measly week_ and Kageyama and Bokuto already have the poor thing whistling all kinds of nonsense. Tadashi squints into the bird’s black, beady eyes like if he stares hard enough, he can wipe its memory squeaky clean. 

“No. Not cool! The _opposite_ of cool, Kageyama.”

Kageyama furrows his brow. “Warm?”

“You are the worst type of person,” Tadashi tells him with vigor.

“I just wanted to see if I could do it. It was an experiment.”

Tadashi uncrosses his arms and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger in annoyance. _I have drank four cups of coffee in the last two hours,_ he thinks, _and yet here I am, completely exhausted._

“That ‘no Tobios allowed’ sign is starting to look better and better,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing. _That_ ,” he says, pointing to the grey-feathered bird, “is not an experiment for your perverted hypotheses. An experiment is constructing a potato clock. Or hatching a butterfly from its cocoon in one of those tiny plastic cups.”

“Or floating ping pong balls midair with a hair dryer,” adds Tsukishima.

Bokuto hops up behind Tadashi and rests his chin on his shoulder, his spiky hair poking the shell of Tadashi’s ear.

“What about those tornado bottle things? With the glitter and the hand soap, you know?”

“Isn’t it dish soap?” implores Kageyama and Bokuto blinks at him.

“Is it?”

“It’s dish soap,” Tsukishima states.

“Yamaguchi is a top!”

“Oh my _god_ , make it stop,” groans Tadashi. “No one is ever going to buy this thing now!”

“Especially when she’s so obviously lying,” chuckles Bokuto.

“What do you know about it?!”

“Don’t worry, Yamaguchi,” he replies pleasantly despite Tadashi’s glare, “she’s a beautiful bird. Someone’s gonna snatch her up real soon. It’s not like we can’t get her to say other stuff.”

“She is a beautiful bird,” supplements Tsukishima. Tadashi’s distracted by the way he gingerly runs his knuckles over the light grey feathers of her chest. It barely registers when Bokuto slaps a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“See? It’ll be fine.”

Tadashi relents with a resonating sigh. He spins to face a stoic Kageyama.

“Two weeks of coffee,” he says.

“Two weeks?” barks Kageyama.

“Or one week of coffee and you help me and Akaashi clean the aquaria this weekend.”

Kageyama considers this for a long moment.

“Deal.”

“Great.”

“Yamaguchi,” Kageyama continues casually, “you’re not really a top, are you? Because Hinata said—”

Tadashi blanches and claps his hand over Kageyama’s mouth. He points menacingly at him with his index finger and Bokuto and Tsukishima regard the spectacle with an avid sort of amusement that makes Tadashi’s ears burn hot.

“One more word and you’re _officially_ banned from this place.”

“Noted,” Kageyama muffles into Tadashi’s hand.

“It was a fair question,” lilts Bokuto.

“ _You’re_ a fair question,” Tadashi fires back.

“What does that even mean?”

“Shut up. I don’t know. You have all broken my brain, congratulations.”

“Even me?” Tsukishima wonders.

Tadashi watches his long, pale fingers as he pushes his glasses further up his nose. He shivers inexplicably and does his best to bite back his subsequent grin.

_Especially you,_ thinks Tadashi, _especially, especially you!_

* * * * *

Later that week, Tadashi finds himself in Offbeat’s back room on his lunch break. Kuroo likes to call it his _office_ , because Kuroo is oh so studious, but the only thing that really puts it into that category would be the desk and maybe the landline telephone. Kuroo pokes happily at the bag of fake purple rocks Tadashi has brought for his fish tank—the only color he ever buys.

“It’s their favorite,” he told Tadashi once and Tadashi had instantly understood why Kuroo and Bokuto are self-proclaimed best friends forever.

Tadashi had hand-delivered the rocks out of the goodness of his heart, and because he is a great friend who enjoys helping others whenever he gets a chance.

That, or Bokuto has dared Hinata to speak in falsetto all day today and Tadashi’s getting a migraine. He only feels a little bad about leaving Akaashi alone in their crosshairs.

“It’s just that Candyland takes so long to play, you know?” Kuroo’s telling him.

“What?” laughs Tadashi. “No it doesn’t.”

Kuroo kicks his feet up onto his desk. “Maybe not the way you play it.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Hey, we should play Monopoly.”

Tadashi kicks his feet up too. “No way. For like, a billion different reasons.”

Kuroo rips open the plastic bag the purple rocks reside in. He plucks them up between his index finger and thumb and they make faint plopping sounds as he drops them into the fish tank, one by one.

“What are the reasons?” he implores.

“Do you want them in alphabetical order?”

Kuroo scoffs. “Duh.”

“I can’t do math in my head, I suck at board games, my lunch break is only twenty minutes,” Tadashi lists while counting on his fingers, “and, oh my god, Kuroo, you think fucking _Candyland_ takes a long time to play, so I can’t even imagine how long it takes you to finish a game of Monopoly.”

Kuroo drops another plastic rock into the tank. “That was not a billion,” he jests.

“I told you, I can’t do math in my head.”

“Oh, Tadashi,” Kuroo grins, shaking his head. “Tadashi, Tadashi, Tadashi.”

“What?”

Kuroo tries to toss the empty plastic bag into the small trash can behind him without looking. It lands on the floor nowhere near it with a soft crinkling sound.

“You’re adorable, you know that?”

“Not really,” Tadashi answers flippantly, his foot tapping at the air.

He turns when Kuroo lifts his gaze to stare somewhere behind him. Tsukishima stands tall in the doorway.

“Kuroo, I need you to open the register. Hey, Yamaguchi.”

“Hey!”

“Tsukishima, please tell Tadashi how adorable he is.”

Tadashi checks the chair he sits on for an eject button. _That should be a law,_ he insists internally, _an eject button for each and every chair! Shoot me right through the ceiling!_

“I need you to open the register,” he says again.

“Sure thing. Right after you tell Tadashi how adorable he is.”

_Straight through the ceiling and the roof! Past the clouds and into space, where I belong!_

“Quite,” is Tsukishima’s answer, concise and mumbled.

Tadashi’s heart does star jumps in his chest.

“My thoughts exactly,” Kuroo agrees lightheartedly, swinging his feet from the desk to the floor and lifting himself out of his chair. “You closed it without giving someone change again, didn’t you?”

Tadashi beams at him instinctually but Tsukishima’s gaze won’t lift from somewhere around Kuroo’s ankles.

“Tsukishima? Didn't you?” Kuroo asks and claps him on the shoulder.

“Yes,” Tsukishima replies finally.

The two of them exit the makeshift office and Tadashi’s left wondering if he really has been shot into space, because he feels kind of really fucking high and like he’s lost all ability to breathe.

* * * * *

“ _Quite_ ,” mimics Tadashi giddily.

“Quite?!” Hinata repeats in a high pitch, his hands balling into fists in front of his chest.

“Can you not do the falsetto? Just for this conversation?”

Hinata takes a deep breath, lets it out. “Okay, okay. But _quite_?!”

“Fucking quite, Shouyou!” Tadashi exclaims and then immediately extinguishes the flames of joy with heavy doubt. “But, I mean, Kuroo was totally pushing him into it. Tsukishima probably didn’t mean it, I mean, I’m probably just being dumb, right?”

“You could never be dumb!”

“You think way too highly of me.”

“I’m your best friend,” Hinata says, pointing a finger at his own face, “isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”

“Okay, yes. Yes you are. But still.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Yamaguchi. Of _course_ Tsukishima thinks you’re cute. I already knew that and so did Bokuto. Akaashi too, probably.”

Tadashi’s skeptical. “What? No. How?”

Hinata zones out, staring blankly over Tadashi’s shoulder as he contemplates this.

“Because we really, really think so!” he declares proudly, hands on his hips like an action hero.

It’s then that Bokuto waltzes into the stock room, whistling a cheerful tune. He stops with his mouth in a tiny ‘o’ when Tadashi squints suspiciously at him.

“ _You_ ,” growls Tadashi.

Bokuto yelps when Tadashi tackles him to the ground.

“Oh my god,” cackles Bokuto as Tadashi straddles him, “Yamaguchi, you’re like a chihuahua! No, wait, probably even _lighter_ than a chihuahua. I’m gonna buy a purse and carry you around in it. What’s up, anyway?”

Tadashi pouts indignantly. Bokuto beams up at him, unbothered.

“You told Kuroo, didn’t you?” Tadashi asks.

“Probably,” answers Bokuto automatically, “I tell Kuroo lots of things.”

“I mean about Tsukki!”

He furrows his brow. “Tsukishima? What about him?”

“You told Kuroo about my thing for him!”

“Your _thing_?” snorts Bokuto. “Is that really what you’re calling it?”

“My, uh—my—well, yeah. Apparently it is. And _you_ told Kuroo about it, you little—”

He cuts himself off with an involuntarily laugh when Bokuto pokes him square in the stomach.

“Relax, Yamaguchi,” he lilts, “I didn’t tell Kuroo about any kind of _thing_ or otherwise you may or may not but definitely do have for that sparkly blond skyscraper of a guy you call Tsukki.”

“Sparkly?” parrots Hinata.

“I don’t know,” says Bokuto with a shrug. “That kind of fits him, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, I can see that,” agrees Tadashi.

“More so Akaashi.”

“Of course you think that, Bo.”

“More so me what?” inquires the sparkly employee in question.

Tadashi stares up at him from his place on (Bokuto on) the floor. Bokuto tips his head back to look too and Akaashi gazes down at them in the doorway, an immaculate eyebrow raised as he awaits an answer. Next to him stands Tsukishima, regarding Tadashi in a way that makes Tadashi want to scramble off the ground and stand at attention directly in front of him. Maybe he’d salute too, just because. _Officer Yamaguchi reporting for duty! May I request the elevated position of being your boyfriend, sir? I don’t care if it doesn’t come with a pay raise!_

“I’ll just eat cheap ramen for the rest of my life,” Tadashi mutters to himself.

“What’s that, Yamaguchi?”

Hinata says, “He’s probably just having one of his daydreams.”

“Gross,” laughs Bokuto. “Please don’t daydream while you’re on top of me, Yamaguchi.”

“Is he alright?” wonders Tsukishima.

“Shut up, Koutarou,” Tadashi replies flatly and pinches Bokuto’s side.

“I know it’s tempting, but please—ow!”

Tadashi pinches him again and Bokuto shuts up. 

“Good to know this is what you guys do over here while I’m next door actually working.”

“Hush, Tsukishima. You _wish_ you got straddled at work,” insists Bokuto.

“No, I really don’t.”

“I’m gonna tell Kuroo you said that!”

“Be my guest.”

Tadashi stands and brushes the lint from the the knees of his jeans, making a mental note to sweep back here sometime soon. Bokuto springs up from the floor to sling his arm around Akaashi’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry, Akaashi,” he says, “that was just a platonic straddling.”

“Bokuto-san, I didn't ask.”

Bokuto gives a charming grin. “You didn’t have to, Akaashi. I could see the question in your steely grey eyes.”

“Whatever you say, Bokuto-san.”

They amble from the stock room, Akaashi snug under Bokuto’s arm and Hinata hot on their heels. Tsukishima stares after them from where he lingers in the doorway. Tadashi ogles the pale curve of his neck. He takes too long to look away when Tsukishima turns back and totally, definitely, absolutely catches him staring.

“What’s up?” Tadashi asks quickly so Tsukishima can’t say anything about it.

“He’s pretty into him, isn’t he?” replies Tsukishima.

Tadashi’s thrown. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Totally.”

“I figured.”

“Bokuto’s so _open_ about it, it’s weird.”

“Bokuto?” Tsukishima asks with a tilt of his head. “I was talking about the botany major—Akaashi.”

Tadashi furrows his brow and exits the stock room to stand in the hall by Tsukishima. They both look to the front of the shop where Bokuto feeds the birds. He sprinkles handfuls of seeds into their many colored bowls and talks to them animatedly while Akaashi preoccupies himself with something behind the register. Tadashi turns back to Tsukishima.

“You think so?” he inquires curiously.

“I do.”

“Do you have a knack for that sort of thing?”

Tsukishima meets his gaze. “What sort of thing?”

“You know,” Tadashi continues with hesitation, “like, knowing when people have a thing for each other?”

_God, I hope not,_ muses Tadashi, _or you would’ve found me out ages ago. I’m not staring at the way your hair shines even under these lackluster fluorescents, no way! The way you speak doesn’t make me want to hear you talk about anything from A to Z! I don’t wonder whether or not you use lotion and how your skin would smell and feel as a result! You’re crazy! Crazy, crazy Tsukki. And people think I’m the neurotic one._

To his question, Tsukishima shrugs.

“I thought I did, but.” He doesn’t go on.

Tadashi wants to prompt him further. Instead, he breaks their eye contact to ogle Tsukishima’s pink earring. It’s turned upside down and Tadashi lifts his hand to straighten it without thinking. It would be so damn easy to slide his fingers into Tsukishima’s white blond hair, to graze his sweaty palm over the side of his face. Tadashi’s heartbeat quickens like a warning.

“Sorry,” he blurts and retracts his hand, “it was flipped. Er, your earring, I mean.”

“Oh,” breathes Tsukishima. 

His own hand comes up to finger the pink hoop. Tadashi cheeks burn but he can’t bring himself to look away.

“I’ve been thinking about taking it out.”

Tadashi takes this personally.

“What? Why?!” _Blasphemy!_

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t!” he protests and his cheeks burn hotter. “I mean, uh, don’t. Unless you want to, of course. Then definitely do. But I’d definitely miss it. It’s cool, is all I mean. Not like you _need_ to wear it to be cool, because literally everything you do or say or wear is cool, so the earring is just an added bonus I guess and holy shit, am I really still talking?”

Tsukishima looks like he’s just taken in a wondrous display, like a tightrope walker on dental floss or a sword swallower who’s ingested several machetes. Tadashi wants to dig a hole in a ground, crawl into it, and stay there forever. 

He tells Tsukishima this much. Tsukishima just huffs out a laugh.

“Your lack of a filter is…”

“Disturbing? Lame?” supplies Tadashi. “Disturbingly lame?”

“Not exactly the words I was looking for.”

“That’s a relief. Kind of.”

“Enrapturing,” Tsukishima tells him, a soft grin on his lips.

Tadashi blinks. He blinks again. He blinks a third time, because he’s pretty sure he’s had a stroke and is imagining all this in his head as he lies still in the back of a wailing ambulance.

Tsukishima implores, “You sincerely think those things?”

Because he can’t help himself, Tadashi absolutely beams.

“Totally,” he says matter-of-factly, “you’re totally and completely cool. But you know that, right?”

Tsukishima’s grin remains, but Tadashi has to squint to see it. In lieu of an answer, he raises the plastic bag he holds in his hand. Tadashi hadn’t even noticed it until now. His stomach growls instinctually.

“Lunch?” asks Tsukishima, wiping the smile from his face like he’s offended it had the nerve to be there in the first place.

“Sure,” Tadashi tells him, “I’ll get mine and meet you at the bench, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima stares at him for a long moment.

“Cool,” he says.

* * * * *

When they made this deal, Tadashi had neglected to realize that with Kageyama comes Hinata, and, similarly, with Akaashi apparently comes Bokuto.

“It’s not a party,” Tadashi tells them, “we’re _cleaning_.”

“Can’t it be both?” asks Kageyama.

Tadashi considers this.

“No. Wait, yes. Maybe. As long as we get all the tanks clean.”

Bokuto and Hinata salute him in tandem. Akaashi nods curtly and Kageyama shuffles around at Hinata’s side like he’s a moth and Hinata is a particularly bright light. Tadashi idly wonders where his own plus-one is.

“Wipe all four sides of each tank down with an algae sponge,” Tadashi instructs both Akaashi and Kageyama. “I’ll take care of the plants and stuff.”

“Can I work the gravel cleaner?!” chirps Bokuto.

“Sure. In the tank this time, please.”

“One time, Yamaguchi. It was _one time!”_

“One time is already way too many.”

“I’m sure there’s a story there, but I’m not sure I want to hear it,” states Akaashi.

Cleaning the gravel in the multitude of aquaria is the hardest task of all, so Tadashi doesn’t even care when Bokuto blasts rock and roll music from his phone and practices guitar solos on the cleaner’s tube. Even Akaashi taps the fingers of his free hand against the side of the tank while he scrubs. Bokuto is extremely charmed by this.

Tadashi is plucking bunches of Cardamine from the bottom of the biggest tank in the shop—the one for the catfish—when his phone pings happily in his pocket.

It’s a picture of Zelda, a blue sheet placed behind her exhibit. She’s turned a lovely aquamarine color as a result (well, the bits of her Tadashi can see, anyway. She hides behind the small ficus tree in the far corner that he and Tsukishima had found for her). _She really likes it,_ rejoices Tadashi with a beam, zooming in on the photo to get a better look, _she really, really likes it! I hope she has just as good a time hiding in that tree as I did getting it._

“Who’re you texting?” Bokuto calls over the whir of the cleaner.

“Tsukki texted me.”

_‘She looks like a sapphire!!’_ texts Tadashi.

Tsukishima says, ‘ _ikr. or benitoite’._

Tadashi finds it totally endearing that he has to google that to find out what it is.

Tadashi types out ‘ _cleaning fish tanks with the crew minus Kuroo’_ when Tsukishima asks what he’s doing. _You must be pretty bored, huh,_ thinks Tadashi, but he could honestly care less. In his book, bored texts from Tsukishima are just as good as any texts from Tsukishima. _Text me! Text me anything! Let me know every time you eat, breathe, talk—anything!_ _Hit me up, Tsukishima, hit me up!_

_What shoes are you wearing today? Cool, now you ask me!_

“Really, Yamaguchi,” drones Bokuto in a deceiving monotone, “sexting at work? Even I have more class than that.”

“Oh my god, get wrecked!” cackles Hinata.

“Shut the fuck up,” Tadashi responds with no venom as he hits send. “Like you’ve never sexted in your entire life, Bokuto—er, I’m sorry, _Saint_ Bokuto.”

“Hey, I used to. When I was your age, you know,” says Bokuto, like it was twenty years ago instead of two.

As he scrubs aggressively at the empty pufferfish tank, Kageyama contributes, “I bet you were one of those people who put inappropriate laughs in every single message. ‘Sucking your dick, el-oh-el, how do you like that’? Stuff like that.”

“Holy shit,” Bokuto realizes, “I totally was. Akaashi, stop laughing!”

Tadashi has already decided that he thinks Tsukishima is someone who's either really, disturbingly good at sexting or super horrible at it. He feels all sorts of guilty that he’s considered this scenario in the first place. But the fact that these aren’t the most impure thoughts he’s had about him makes Tadashi feel a little better (and then a lot worse, like he’s broken something at a shop and shoved it right back on the shelf, but behind other, bulkier things so it no one finds it right away).

Tsukishima’s next message reads: ‘ _need help?’_ and Tadashi can’t send his affirmation fast enough.

“Tsukki’s coming,” Tadashi announces with a beam.

“Good for him,” deadpans Kageyama. Bokuto laughs.

“Nice job, Yamaguchi! You must be better at that than I was!”

“Oh my god, I’m literally going to kill you all.”

Hinata brushes small spots of grime from the leaves of a Water Sprite. “Literally?”

“Literally.”

“Don’t worry, Akaashi,” Bokuto insists, pointing the cleaner at him, “I’ll protect you from all of Yamaguchi’s wrath!”

“Because Yamaguchi is so wrathful,” jests Akaashi with a roll of his eyes.

“You don’t even know the half of it, man.”

Tadashi claims, “I’ll sue you for slander!”

“Just you try it!”

“I just might! Put your legal dukes up, motherfucker.”

“Am I the only one still cleaning?” asks Kageyama.

Hinata flits to his side and leans over the pristine tanks.

“Good job, Kageyama!” he chirps.

Kageyama blinks and inspects his work. “You really think so?”

“Yep. Except you missed a spot.”

“Where?”

Kageyama leans closer and Hinata subsequently smashes two wet sponges against both of his cheeks. He then zooms across the room to hide behind Bokuto, both of them doubled over in hysterics while Kageyama sputters and fumes in Hinata’s wake.

“Dumbass!”

Hinata puts his hands on his hips. “Oh, I’m _so_ scar—”

He cuts off with a shriek and turns tail as Kageyama bolts at him. 

“Don’t run,” Tadashi tells them, “these tanks are expensive!”

“Bokuto, give me the gravel cleaner,” insists Kageyama.

“Bokuto, do _not_ give him the gravel cleaner.”

Hinata and Kageyama stand facing each other, arms outstretched like the start of a wrestling match with Bokuto a sturdy and amused partition between them. Kageyama glares. Hinata sticks his tongue out at him.

“I’m not giving it to anybody! Do you even _see_ how much gravel I still have to clean?”

“Very admirable, Bokuto-san.”

“You really think so, Akaashi?”

“I was making a joke.”

Bokuto shrugs. “I’ll take it.”

Kageyama tries to swipe the cleaner while Bokuto’s distracted (damn Akaashi and his pretty face and his sparkly eyes and his grin that could probably stop traffic). Tadashi has instant flashbacks about the last misuse of the unfortunate machine and Kageyama’s down with his back to the tile floor and Tadashi on top of him in three seconds flat.

“I’d be kind of scared if that wasn’t so impressive,” Kageyama pants.

Tadashi tightens his grip on both of Kageyama’s wrists and beams down at him. “Right?”

“Yeah. Ow.”

“Sorry. But you asked for it.”

“I wasn’t really gonna hit him with it. Or spray him with it. Or, uh—whatever that thing does.”

“I think it’s more of a suction kind of thing,” says Akaashi.

“Yeah, stupid,” Hinata teases from where he leans over the conglomerate of Kageyama and Tadashi. “It’s a _suction_ thing. Not like you’d know anything about that.”

“Oh my god,” laughs Tadashi, releasing Kageyama’s wrists to applaud.

“Fuck off, Hinata.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week!”

“I know, I made your schedule.”

Tadashi’s too preoccupied to notice the knocks on the shop’s door and Akaashi going to open it. He still straddles Kageyama and holds his sides in laughter when Tsukishima comes to loom over them.

“Wow. Yamaguchi, we have got to stop meeting like this.”

Tadashi flinches at the intrusion and cranes his neck to stare at him. _It’s pretty fucking unfair that you’re good looking even from this horrible angle,_ he muses. Tsukishima raises an eyebrow and Tadashi grins up at him.

“You’re telling me,” says Tadashi. “Ouch, Kageyama, cut it out. Quit moving your legs.”

“I know! Aren’t his hipbones so bony?” exclaims Hinata.

“They’re bones,” Kageyama drones, “they’re supposed to be bony.”

“I mean, I _guess_.”

“Besides, you’ve never told me that before.”

“I didn’t want to make you feel bad," Hinata admits.

“Bad?” Kageyama scoffs. “Whatever gives me an advantage when we fight is fine with me.”

Bokuto chirps a laugh. “Geez, how often do you guys wrestle?”

“It’s forty to twenty-three, currently,” Kageyama answers without hesitation.

* * * * *

“Do you straddle all your friends?” Tsukishima asks.

“Just when they misbehave,” Tadashi quips after a beat. “Which is kind of a lot.”

Everyone else hauls tank after tank back into place while Tsukishima and Tadashi stand in the corner and survey. Tadashi observes the pristine aquaria with a flighty sense of accomplishment, checking the boxes on his clipboard with poorly drawn smiley faces.

“I see,” replies Tsukishima, apparently unmoved by what Tadashi thought was a totally hilarious answer.

Tadashi checks the next empty box with a frowny face.

They both look over when Hinata leaps and latches himself onto Kageyama’s back without warning. Kageyama doesn’t even stumble, like he’d been expecting it for a number of hours and everything is right with the world now that it’s come to pass. Tadashi snorts a laugh as the two of them continue on without a hitch. He pinks when he feels Tsukishima eyeing him.

“Are they together?” he asks in a low voice that puts Tadashi’s stomach in a pleasant stir.

“Constantly.”

“No, I mean are they—involved?”

Tadashi holds in a snicker. _Involved?_ he wonders. _What weird, archaic terminology! You can’t seriously be twenty! I bet you’re one of those people who hates the phrase ‘hooking up’, huh, Tsukishima? Me too though, Tsukki—it’s so vague!_

“Oh. No. Yes. Maybe. No one really knows.”

“Is that so?”

Tadashi hums. “I don’t even think _they_ know, you know?”

Tsukishima blinks and Tadashi flinches when Hinata slips and crashes to the floor. Kageyama pulls him back up without so much as a lull in their bickering. Tadashi turns and appreciates the dull blue glow the aquaria cast over the clear, porcelain skin of Tsukishima’s face.

“So,” Tadashi blurts when Tsukishima catches him staring, “benitoite, huh?”

Tsukishima nods. “Didn’t she look cool?”

“Totally.”

“I think she misses you.”

“I miss her too,” fawns Tadashi. “What makes you think that?”

“Sometimes she’ll crawl up to side of her tank, breathe real hard, and draw your face in the fog on the glass,” deadpans Tsukishima as he watches Bokuto and Akaashi replace the pufferfish tank. “Freckles and everything. I swear.”

_My freckles,_ thinks Tadashi as he laughs _, you’ve really noticed my freckles! Though I suppose they aren’t hard to miss. Do you like them, Tsukishima, or do you not? You can tell me the truth!_

“I do the same thing at my apartment,” he lilts, “just ask Hinata. Beady little eyes and everything.”

“You can come see her again, if you’d like.”

“You mean it, Tsukki?”

Tsukishima looks strangely at him. “Of course.”

Tadashi bites back a goofy smile. _To be at Tsukishima’s apartment in the first place was already a chance in a billion, but to be invited back? I must be dreaming! Somebody pinch me!_

“Did you just pinch yourself?” Tsukishima asks.

“Huh? No, I just—had an itch, is all. So, when should I be over?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just one chapter left. so happy you guys are having just as good a time reading this as i am writing it.
> 
> some awesome ART has been made by the wonderful dandelionmeadow on tumblr omg i am so blessed:  
> dandelionmeadow.tumblr.com/post/145374851230/oh-tadashi-pauses-is-he-sick-not-likely  
> dandelionmeadow.tumblr.com/post/145405587645/hes-haloed-by-the-afternoon-sunlight-that  
> dandelionmeadow.tumblr.com/post/145558232570/birbs-with-cool-hair-did-i-tell-you-about-the  
> ilu and your headcanon for last chapter that tsuk wanted to take pics of yamaguchi in the greenhouse just as bad as yama wanted to take some of him :') :') :''')
> 
> all comments, kudos, and bookmarks are so sincerely appreciated, for real.  
> oh, and you can find me on tumblr @ deanpendragon !!
> 
> edit: ok so i made an 8tracks playlist for this fic bc i literally can't contain myself:  
> 8tracks.com/deanpendragon/blue-summer-sky
> 
> <3


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO amazingly and unbelievably happy to let you guys finally read this!!! aahhhHhhHHhhhHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> happy, happy reading!

Tsukishima has lots of _things,_ and this throws Tadashi off even the second time around.

He’s got lots of knickknacks; bits and pieces; odds and ends. Clutter has been pushed to the edges of desks and end tables to make room for more clutter. Tadashi wants to go through and catalogue each and every little thing (taking care to note any stray bobby pins or hair ties or ashtrays—things that could potentially belong to Not Tsukishima). He starts subtly enough after he’s had his fill of a happy, benitoite-colored Zelda.

“And this?” he asks, plucking a plastic flower from a metal pencil cup.

“It’s a pen,” Tsukishima tells him, “from a garden festival I went to a while back.”

Tadashi clicks it and draws a five-point star on the back of his hand.

“The ink is light blue,” he marvels.

“Is it?”

Tsukishima shuffles from his place on the floor to the desk chair in which Tadashi sits. He shifts onto his knees to inspect, the denim of his jeans brushing Tadashi’s ankle. 

To prove his point, Tadashi grabs Tsukishima’s hand and draws a tight, slow spiral across the back of it. The unexpected warmth of Tsukishima’s palm against his lower thigh is such a fantastic distraction. He only realizes how big the spiral’s grown when the tip of the pen swerves over the knuckle of Tsukishima’s index finger.

“Sorry, Tsukki,” he says, “I got a little overzealous there. But it’s a neat color, right?”

Tsukishima hums in a way that sends Tadashi’s stomach into a pleasant stir.

“It looks nicer on your skin than mine.”

Tadashi protests automatically, “No way.”

“Yeah. My skin tone is too light to complement it. Your complexion is just dark enough to achieve a really nice contrast to this weird turquoise.”

“But your skin is por—er, I mean, you think so?”

Tsukishima pinches his eyebrows together. “My skin is poor?”

_Absolutely, positively not!_

“What? No! I didn’t say that.”

“What did you mean to say?”

“I, uh.”

Then, before Tadashi can make something up, Tsukishima presses him further.

“Just say it.”

“Porcelain,” breathes Tadashi. “I was going to say your skin is porcelain.”

Tsukishima blinks up at him with big, glinting eyes. Audibly, Tadashi gulps.

“As in cold, ceramic porcelain? Or…”

Looking at Tsukishima, Tadashi makes a snap decision.

He throws his caution, perpetually flimsy in nature, to the wind; a kite twitching through the blue summer sky. 

Tadashi pulls Tsukishima’s hand back to his knee. Tsukishima watches with great focus as Tadashi’s fingers do their own thing; tracing over the ink he’s drawn there, lightly as if to give Tsukishima the leeway to inevitably pull back. _I was right,_ Tadashi muses, _it’s so smooth, smooth, smooth. Like ice, only warm and comfortable and inviting._

Tadashi bets Akaashi and Bokuto can hear his heartbeat all the way from the shop. He blushes at the prospect of Tsukishima noticing this from where he sits on his knees in front of him, nearly between Tadashi’s own, and Tadashi will be damned if he’s not a lot closer than he was before.

“Nah,” he finally answers, “like smooth. Like bright. And uh, like perfect.”

_Not ‘like’! It is! It very much is! And I would very much like it against mine in both innocent and not-so-innocent ways that would probably gross you out! But I’ll take what I can get, Tsukki, and be so very gracious about it._

“Perfect is a big word,” Tsukishima accuses in a faraway voice, overtly distracted by the swirls Tadashi still traces on the back of his hand.

Tadashi nods. “Yeah, maybe.”

“What about your skin?”

Tadashi’s finger stills.

“I don’t know,” he pants. 

Tsukishima has taken all of the air in the room and left Tadashi without any for himself.

He reiterates, “I don’t know. What about it?”

Tsukishima’s amber eyes flit to Tadashi’s.

“You don’t have to answer,” Tsukishima begins, “but.”

Tadashi runs the pad of his index finger diagonally across the back of Tsukishima’s hand—a prompt for him to continue.

“What would you say if I told you I’ve thought about it—a lot, even?”

“I’d say you were lying,” Tadashi admits, head in a dizzying spin, “and then I’d wait for the camera crew to leap out from wherever they're hiding as you laugh hysterically at my expense.”

Tadashi waits for the anvil to drop. But there’s nothing. Tsukishima looks like he’s barely registered the flippant reply, golden eyes raking over Tadashi’s face as if to uncover something. Heat licks low in his abdomen when Tsukishima inhales a deep, slow breath.

“Not lying,” he exhales.

Unhurriedly, he inches his palm further up Tadashi’s thigh. Tadashi might be embarrassed of his own heavy breathing if he weren’t so completely and utterly preoccupied with the easy slide of Tsukishima’s sweaty palm on his bare skin.

“Oh,” he sighs when Tsukishima’s fingertips disappear under the leg of his shorts.

At that, Tsukishima leans forward to rest his forehead on Tadashi’s knee. His hand stills.

“Good ‘oh’ or bad ‘oh’?” Tsukishima implores, the breath that carries his words hot on Tadashi’s leg.

Tadashi babbles breathlessly, “Good ‘oh’. Good, good ‘oh’. Great ‘oh’. The best ‘oh’ ever, probably.”

Another snap decision: Tadashi reaches forward and threads his fingers through Tsukishima’s hair. The low hum he gets in return makes his toes twitch on the carpet.

Tadashi feels charged, like he’d blow every fuse in the breaker box if he stepped too close.

Into his skin, Tsukishima mutters, “You’re on my mind a lot of the time.”

_This simply cannot be true,_ Tadashi realizes.

“You—ah—you shouldn’t tease me, Tsukki.”

Tsukishima lifts his head to watch him. “What is that?”

Tadashi falls back to earth, if only a little ways.

“What’s what?” he pants.

“ _Tsukki_. You’ve called me that a few times now.”

Tadashi pulls his hand back to his side and to his utter, agonizing dismay, Tsukishima does the same.

“Oh. Yeah, well, _Tsukishima_ is kind of long, and it pretty much—well, it takes forever to get through stuff when I’m talking to Hinata or Bokuto. I guess I shortened it somewhere along the way. Oops. I don’t even notice when I do it.”

“You talk about me?” Tsukishima asks, a curious kind of smile on his lips.

Tadashi goes red.

“Uh,” he stammers, “yeah, kind of. I mean, just to my friends. And just good stuff! Like how cool your clothes were one day or something funny you said. Or random facts you tell me about animals or whatever, because Akaashi is always curious about that sort of—”

Tsukishima pulls him down with a quick hand on the back of Tadashi’s neck and kisses him.

Despite the urgency, it’s the softest, sweetest thing Tadashi can remember.

The sheer proximity alone sends him reeling, their points of contact so obvious to him at this moment: Tsukishima’s hand once again sliding up his thigh, his own fingers scrabbling at the collar of Tsukishima’s white t-shirt, their mouths together with a warm, gentle press. He achieves that same deep hum from Tsukishima when he slides his fingers into his hair a second time, nails catching slightly as he cards them through strands of soft white blond. In return, Tsukishima cups Tadashi’s face with his free hand. His thumb rubs over his cheekbone, the rest of his fingers curling absently behind Tadashi’s ear.

Tadashi loves the soft smack that echoes through the quiet room when Tsukishima pulls back. Seriously, he loves it. He wants to set it as his ringtone. _It’s twenty-sixteen,_ he thinks, _this should be a thing!_

When Tsukishima lets his hands fall back to his sides, Tadashi follows suit.

“Say something,” Tsukishima urges. His breaths come hot and staggered between them.

“Can’t,” Tadashi replies instantly, “my brain’s exploded.”

“Yamaguchi—”

“Am I dead? Did I die? And what the fuck is that sound?”

“Your phone, Yamaguchi.”

The device rattles incessantly on the desk’s wooden surface.

“Shit, that’s Bokuto’s ring!”

Tsukishima blink at him, cheeks still dyed a pretty pink. “And?”

“He _never_ calls, ever. Only texts. And every time he _does_ call, I lose another five years off my life.”

“Wha—”

“An emergency,” Tadashi interrupts, “is what I think I’m trying to say. Like I said—Brain. Exploded. Gone. Forever. Can’t make words, Tsukki.”

“I have never hated technology more than I do at this moment,” sighs Tsukishima.

Tadashi leaves after he gives Tsukishima a long, tight hug. 

And even if it’s only because Tadashi is too chickenshit to get on his tiptoes and kiss him again—a really _real_ one this time, wet and slick and calculated and ongoing, Tadashi’s favorite of favorite kinds—it’s still really fucking nice.

* * * * *

The shop gets puppies.

Bokuto has never called Tadashi to deliver more pressing and pertinent news than this.

Finally living up to its name, Wags and Whiskers gets _puppies_ —real, live, breathing puppies who sleep sixteen hours a day but still find time to piss all over the floor and gnaw at Tadashi’s hands with their sharp little puppy teeth. There are just two of them, but Tadashi feels totally blessed.

“It’s kind of bittersweet, you know?” he tells Hinata as the caramel-colored puppy crawls into his lap and collapses.

“What is?”

“These guys’ll be gone in no time. I mean, _look_ at them. I don’t even care that they pee every five seconds.”

“Because I’m the one cleaning it up?”

“No—well, yes—I meant because they’re so damn _cute_. This guy’s like a little robber!”

“Oh, yeah! ’Cause the black fur around his eyes!”

Tadashi coughs a laugh. “No, because I think he took my wallet.”

“You’re hanging out with Tsukishima too much.”

“No such thing as too much,” Tadashi sighs dreamily.

“Yeah huh,” Hinata stops and yelps when the blond puppy he holds nips at his fingers, “you probably text him more than you text me now!”

“That’s only because you kind of suck at texting. And I’m with you constantly. I live with you. We share a toilet. It’d be like you and Kageyama texting all the time.”

Hinata blinks at him. “We do text all the time, though.”

“Don’t I know it, buddy.”

Tadashi doesn’t tell Hinata about he and Tsukishima and their thigh-touching and their hair-stroking and their gentle, patient kiss right away. If he tells someone, that makes it _real_ and then Tadashi has to deal with the ten thousand reasons he’ll come up with to convince himself that Tsukishima was just messing around. Maybe he made a bet with someone and had to do something really embarrassing if he couldn’t get Tadashi to kiss him. Maybe he was having a stroke at the time and thought Tadashi was someone else, like his crop top-wearing, cigarette-smoking girlfriend or a chiseled male model who attends classes at the place next to the pet shop. Maybe he’d taken a few hits from a particularly potent joint before Tadashi got there and just thought, _fuck it_.

Maybe Tsukishima made a mistake. It’s only so long before he realizes this, right?

And then he’ll block Tadashi’s number and move into a different apartment so Tadashi can’t seek him out and dye his hair dark so he can’t be so easily recognized.

_Joke’s on you_ , Tadashi thinks smugly, _one look at those eyes and I’d know you anywhere!_

Against Kuroo’s wishes, Tsukishima will place a ‘NO TADASHIS ALLOWED’ sign in Offbeat’s front window, similar to the Kageyama one Tadashi himself still considers.

And Tadashi can’t handle that—the embarrassment or the rejection or the loss of all his Tsukishima-related hope, snatched right from his fingers the very same time he gets a loose, fumbling hold of it.

So Tadashi doesn’t tell Bokuto or Hinata right away (although he really, really wants to).

* * * * *

Bokuto fiddles his thumbs around his water bottle—a very un-Bokuto-like action that makes Tadashi furrow his brow as he mentally flips through their itinerary for the day.

“We should have a party soon,” says Bokuto. “Like, we all get together and drink and stuff. I’ll rent a karaoke machine. Maybe we’ll even have a theme, you know? Something like ‘French Bistro Casual’, or ‘Tropical Tank Top Trendy’. There’ll be dancing. We can play spin the bottle.”

Tadashi looks up at him. “There are about fourteen things wrong with that sentence.”

“Huh?!”

“Spin the bottle, really?”

“Don’t laugh! I got my first kiss thanks to that game!”

Tadashi rolls his eyes.

“Bokuto,” he insists gently, “I don’t think you need to make excuses to kiss Akaashi.”

Bokuto gasps, affronted. He claps a hand over Tadashi’s mouth and shushes him with his index finger pressed tight to his lips. His palm smells like bird seed.

“He’s not even in yet,” says Tadashi, but it’s muffled.

“Still! And I can’t just _do_ that, Yamaguchi. He’s so pure!”

“What does that even mean?”

Bokuto sighs. “I just mean that—well—it’s just hard, okay?”

“He knows you like him. There’s no way he doesn’t know that you like him. _Adore_ might be a more appropriate word, even,” Tadashi replies, feeling a lot like he’s the pot calling the kettle black. “He could be headless and still probably be aware of how you feel about him, Bo.”

“Ooh, adore, yeah. That’s a good one.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Totally. But as much as I might adore the Akaashi, one does not simply kiss the Akaashi,” Bokuto announces gravely, like this is law and he hates to be the one to tell Tadashi such woeful news.

“And why not?”

“The fact that he _knows_ is part of the problem.”

Tadashi plucks the water bottle from Bokuto’s grasp and takes a sip.

“I would’ve thought that would be part of the solution,” he says.

Bokuto holds up a finger. “Ah, one might think that, yes. But listen. I’ve went over this like, a million times in my head last night in front of the TV—the news was on and I couldn’t find the remote, and the news is just so _depressing_ , you know?—Akaashi knows I like—er, _adore_ him, right?”

Tadashi nods.

“Okay, so he knows this. But he hasn’t done anything about it. If he knows this and he feels the same, he’d do something about it. Isn’t that right?”

The water bottle in his hands makes a crinkling sound when Tadashi scrunches it in thought.

“Maybe he’s just shy. You’d know better than me.”

“What I’m trying to say is that Akaashi would kiss me if he really wanted to,” Bokuto declares. “I radiate the greenest of green lights at all times, Yamaguchi. No kidding.”

Tadashi wonders what this so-called green light looks on himself, and more so Tsukishima.

“Don’t let it get you down, Bokuto. Just give it time.”

Puzzled, Bokuto cocks his head. 

“Down?” he repeats.

He reaches across the counter and squeezes Tadashi’s shoulder; a firm, reassuring squeeze that makes Tadashi feel like he could conquer the world if only Bokuto said he believed he could.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Yamaguchi. I’m so hyped. I’ll give him all the time he needs and then some,” claims Bokuto. “And if he never comes around—well, I’ll be devastated at first—but then I’ll be fine because we’d still be friends, you know?”

Bokuto’s positivity is jarring. It makes Tadashi feel both manic and relieved all at once.

“If there’s one person I don’t mind spending time on,” Bokuto continues, “it’s Akaashi!”

* * * * *  


There’s someone at the register when Tadashi strolls into Offbeat later that same day. Tadashi hates when this happens, because then he has to hover around like a tourist until they leave with their CDs or instruments or music books or whatever the hell else people actually buy here.  Honestly, Tsukishima is so distracting that Tadashi has yet to walk down a single aisle in all the weeks he’s been coming here. Kuroo would be so disappointed (either that, or he would completely understand. Tadashi figures it’s the latter).

He kicks at a ball of lint on the floor while he waits. _How long does it take to ring up a CD,_ wonders Tadashi, _or a guitar strap? Maybe she’s buying a piano or something weird like that. How will she get it home? Does Kuroo do deliveries? He doesn’t even own a truck—or does he?_

Only belatedly does Tadashi realize that the girl at the counter has already made her purchase. He eyes the plastic bag that dangles from her fingers. She has done her part in supporting local businesses and now she just _chats_ , leaning on her elbow on the counter and flipping her hair over her shoulder; her dark, silky hair that tumbles graciously down her back and contrasts nicely against the pale skin of her face, complete with a profile so picturesque that Tadashi would try to draw it if he had any artistic skill whatsoever.

Of course, he only notices all of this because he is staring. He can not look away because if he does, the girl and Tsukishima will start making out and propose to one another and skip happily from the shop right past him, giggling and eager to start their new life together. Tadashi’s sure of it. He sees three corgis and a two-point-five bathroom home in their future.

Except.

Tsukishima looks bored. He looks far more bored and dispassionate than any guy in their right mind should be when talking to a woman so gorgeous and so clearly interested. Seeing this, Tadashi shuffles a little closer.

“—think so. If you’d excuse me, I have another customer.”

“Gotcha. No problem,” the beautiful girl lilts, cool as ever, “have a good one, okay?”

To Tadashi’s horror, she leans further over the counter to grab Tsukishima’s arm and, with a pen she plucks delicately from the pencil cup near the register, scrawls a set of numbers in a tight, orderly line across his skin. She goes without another suave word. The chimes on the door are loud in the silence of the shop and Tadashi does his best to appear neutral.

“Hi,” he chirps and steps up to the counter.

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima greets in return.

“Do you like corgis?”

“Corgis?”

Tadashi nods mutely. Tsukishima shrugs.

“Not particularly. They strike me more as an old person dog.”

Tadashi is so relieved he could cry. From somewhere below the counter, Tsukishima procures a small, clear bottle. Tadashi watches with interest as he drips a few calculated drops from it onto his forearm. The black numbers that reside there taunt Tadashi menacingly. _You’re not the only one who’s written on him, you know_ , the numbers say, _you’re not special at all!_

“Don’t be dicks,” Tadashi tells them.

“What?”

“Uh—nothing. You were saying?”

“Not to mention they have to be kept busy a lot of the time,” Tsukishima continues as he slathers the solvent over his skin with two fingers, “although they are pretty adaptable. But they’re noisy.”

“Great watchdogs,” Tadashi supplements distractedly, watching the smooth back-and-forth motion of Tsukishima’s long, pale fingers. Under them, the black ink loses shape and vanishes.

“They shed a lot. I don’t like that.”

“And all your black clothes, Tsukki!”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Tsukishima recaps the tiny bottle of hand sanitizer with a faint _snap_  and returns it to its place somewhere beneath his side of the counter. Tadashi gawks at the white skin of Tsukishima’s bare forearm when he realizes what he’s done.

“You erased her number,” he comments dumbly.

Tsukishima stares at him for a long minute.

“Yes,” he replies finally, “would you rather I have kept it?”

Tadashi gulps. “No. Not at all, Tsukki.”

“Okay then. Would you’ve liked it, Yamaguchi?”

“Is that a trick question?”

Tsukishima grins, but just barely.

“Not in the slightest.”

“Nah,” answers Tadashi, “I don’t want it.”

His phone feels heavy in his pocket, the pleasant weight of Tsukishima’s number and dozens of text messages so palpable and present at this moment. Tsukishima’s grin elevates to a smile and Tadashi beams right back at him.

_Your smile has touched my smile,_ Tadashi realizes, beaming even brighter, _can we please do that again?! Let us do that again! Can we, can we, can we? Let’s!_

* * * * *

Tadashi texts Hinata when he absolutely can not hold it in anymore: ‘ _WE KISSED!!!!!1_ ’.

This occurs in the very middle of the night, after Tadashi has spent more than a couple of hours tossing and turning and replaying he and Tsukishima’s thing over and over again in his head instead of sleeping like a normal, sane person who has an exam in the morning.

Tadashi starts when his phone buzzes on his chest.

The message he receives reads: ‘ _yes. I was there’_ , and that’s when Tadashi realizes that, in his sleepless stupor, he’d sent the text to Tsukishima. He resends the text to Hinata after he’s effectively blushed himself into oblivion.

Hinata bursts into his room within a minute. His hilarious sleep mask is pushed up into his hair, the orange spikes backlit by the bright hallway and making him look like a mad scientist.

“You _what_?!” he screeches and Tadashi shushes him instinctively.

“I know. I know. I know, I know, I _know_.”

“When? Just now? Earlier? When?”

“How could it be just now?”

“I dunno. Tsukishima could be hiding under the covers or something.”

“Don’t say that. You’re gonna give him a boner,” drones Kageyama from where he stands behind Hinata in the doorway and rubs his fists into his eyes.

“Hey, Kageyama. You know, you suck sometimes.”

Kageyama yawns. “We’re good friends, Yamaguchi.”

“Just another reason why I constantly doubt my life choices.”

_Except for the one where me and Tsukishima hand-to-god kissed each other! That happened! That so happened,_ thinks Tadashi with a dopey smile as Hinata dive-bombs onto his bed demanding crude details. _It happened and now it just has to happen again._

_And again._

_And about two-thousand more times after that._

* * * * *

As Tadashi expected, one of the two puppies is gone within four days of their arrival.

As a result, everyone babies the one that remains—the robber one, with the mask of black fur around its glossy puppy eyes. Akaashi holds it and rocks it gently about like a newborn.

“Geez, Akaashi. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

Akaashi grins down at the puppy when it yawns. “Why’s that?”

“You holding a puppy is _literally_ the only way that you could get cuter.”

“I should have known you would say that, Bokuto-san.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. You’re far too kind.”

Bokuto hums. He sways to knock he and Akaashi’s shoulders together.

“You think he’s adorable now, you should see him when he’s all curled up at the foot of my bed. Yamaguchi says to let him sleep in his crate when I keep him overnight but I just _can’t_ , you know?”

“I heard that!” calls Tadashi from where he stands behind the counter, not two yards away.

Kuroo snickers and hands Tadashi his bi-weekly purple plastic rock purchase. Bokuto spins on his heel and squawks at them.

“Huh?!”

“I’m standing right here!” Tadashi says.

Bokuto spins back and blinks owlishly down at Akaashi, who gives Bokuto his undivided attention.

“Anyways,” Bokuto goes on, “he’s super, _extra_ cute when he’s not cooped up here.”

Akaashi shifts his weight to his other foot and holds the drowsy puppy closer to his chest.

“I’d love to see that,” he replies, looking squarely down.

“Yeah? You can take him overnight tonight, if you want.”

Tadashi’s drawn from the conversation for just a second when Tsukishima enters the shop. Tadashi gives him a wave before holding up a single finger. 

“My apartment doesn’t allow animals,” Akaashi says.

“Really? What a bummer.”

“Yes. But I’d still like to see the puppy outside of Wags and Whiskers.”

“No doubt, Akaashi. I’m sure we can figure something out—”

“He wants to go to your place!” Kuroo yells and subsequently flees the shop.

Bokuto watches the door fall closed before he turns back to Akaashi, his head cocked like a curious bird. Akaashi’s face is a pretty pink, something that should make him look silly but instead just highlights how nice his face really is. _Speaking_ _of nice faces,_ thinks Tadashi and looks to Tsukishima. Tsukishima quirks a blond eyebrow at him.

“Should I be concerned about this predisposition you seem to have for eavesdropping?” he asks.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Tadashi tells him playfully.

“Noted. Lunch?”

He gives Bokuto and Akaashi one more glance before he agrees.

“Totally. Let’s eat.”

* * * * *

“You pick Fi over _Midna_?”

“It’s apple and oranges, Tsukki!”

“Still, though.”

Tsukishima takes a bite from his plum. Tadashi didn’t know people just ate those like they do apples or pears, but he finds it fitting that even Tsukishima’s choice of handheld fruit would endear him to Tadashi at this point. He scoots closer on the tiny bench as if to demonstrate this.

“Fi’s just—I don’t know, _lovelier_ , where Midna’s more cynical and mischievous.”

Tsukishima hums. “You don’t enjoy a good, mischievous cynic?”

“It’s hard to say.”

“Is that so?”

Tsukishima switches the plum to his other hand to drum his fingers on Tadashi’s bare knee. The motion is so sudden and casual and it leaves Tadashi reeling—spinning, twirling, deliriously giddy.

“Would you call yourself a cynic, Tsukki?”

The drumming slows but doesn’t stop.

“Absolutely,” Tsukishima answers coolly.

Tadashi considers this, but is thrown from his task when Tsukishima turns and gives him a charming grin. Seriously, his mind goes blank save for the repetitious chant of _Tsukki, Tsukki, Tsukki, Tsukki_ that matches the beat of his noisy heart.

“So you’re a Midna,” he says with effort.

“And you’re lovely,” Tsukishima tells him.

Tadashi blinks. “I’m a Fi?”

Tsukishima takes another bite of his plum, chewing slowly. He doesn’t answer until he’s swallowed.

“Lovelier than.”

Tadashi flips Tsukishima’s hand so his knuckles press into his thigh and slides their palms together. He can practically hear the definitive echo of a latch when their fingers interlock, something that to Tadashi sounds a lot like:  _I can’t let go, ever, but why the hell would I want to?_ With his free hand, Tadashi taps lightly at the black temple of Tsukishima’s glasses.

“I think maybe you need your prescription updated,” he jests.

Tsukishima’s reply is a swift kiss to Tadashi’s cheekbone.

“Yamaguchi, holy—oh, and Tsukishima, too! You guys! I’m seriously—”

Bokuto sprints across the parking lot in record time and stops his yelling to double over in front of the bench, panting curse words down at the grass. He flicks his head upward to stare at them with big eyes.

“Akaashi’s coming over to my house tonight!” he shouts.

“That’s great, Bo.”

“Yeah, he wants to see the puppy! At my house! See the puppy. At my house. You _guys_.”

“We’ve gathered that,” deadpans Tsukishima.

“You can finally make your move, huh, Bokuto?” Tadashi suggests and Bokuto gapes at him.

“Are you _kidding_? Inviting him over to see my pet and then—”

“The puppy’s not _yours_ —”

“—and then kissing him? But that’s—that’s like lying! Shame, shame,” tuts Bokuto, “I’d expect better from you, Tadashi. Using your pet to get you laid—that’s so nineties.”

Tadashi and Tsukishima share a knowing look.

“How does that follow?” asks Tsukishima.

“It just does. You guys are too young to understand.”

“We were alive in the nineties too,” Tadashi insists.

“Whatever, okay? The point is that Akaashi, and I mean _the Akaashi_ is coming over to my house tonight and it’s a mess and what if he doesn’t like my decorating and I’m pretty sure there are dishes in the sink and what if the puppy does something embarrassing or what if I’m the one who does an embarrassing thing?”

“Since when do you get embarrassed?” asks Tadashi. “And relax! You sound like me.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” says Bokuto.

“Listen, Bo. There’s no reason to freak out, okay? Your place looks fine. It’s a nice place. I’ll come over and help you clean it up if you want. And I don’t think there’s anything embarrassing enough to make Akaashi not like you anymore,” Tadashi reassures with a genuine grin.

“Wait, _like_ me or _like-like_ me?”

“Both!” he answers. “Even Tsukki thinks Akaashi’s into you.”

Bokuto looks back and forth between the two of them with huge eyes like one of those old fashioned cat clocks.

“Tsukishima, you do?” he implores and Tsukishima merely nods.

Bokuto falls silent, overwhelmed for a single second before he starts up again.

“You—you really—and _you_ , Yamaguchi, you really think so too? How are you guys being so blasé about this?!” he squawks. “Don’t you know that this is the most spectacular thing that’s happened to me in the history of ever? I mean, have you _seen_ Akaashi? Have you seen the way his grey eyes shine when he talks about plants or feeds the fish at the shop? Man, I never thought grouchy Tsukishima would be the one to put me in a good mood but I guess anything’s possible, huh—are you guys holding hands?”

Both Tadashi and Tsukishima look down and check like they’ve forgotten (they definitely, definitely haven’t and the heat of their palms together warms Tadashi right up).

“Yeah,” says Tsukishima, “we are. And we were having a nice time before you ambushed us.”

“I’m _still_ having a nice time,” Tadashi beams.

He squeezes Tsukishima’s hand for emphasis and to Tadashi’s absolute delight, he blushes. Bokuto does the cat clock thing again before he hops forward and claps Tadashi on the shoulder with a beam that rivals the sun above them (and Tadashi's to boot).

“Nice, Yamaguchi! Oh my god! I knew you could pull it off,” he says like he’s talking about a bank heist and not the most ridiculously anticipated event of Tadashi’s young adulthood. He goes on through a laugh, “You couldn’t have been more wrong about the cigarette-smoking and the crop top-wearing and, oh my god, the _girl_ -being aspect. I mean, you’ve seen his earring, right? You never let me down, Yamaguchi, you know that? I’m real happy for you guys. I mean it. I know I’m rambling but I really am proud and happy for you both, it’s just I’m nervous about the whole Akaashi thing and the _like-like_ possibility of it all and I’m gonna go do a few laps around the strip to calm down so I’ll see you later! Yamaguchi, we’ll talk about helping me tidy up my place when I get back, okay?!”

Bokuto takes off like a tornado. Tadashi hardly blinks before he’s sprinted across the parking lot and zooms around the side of the building, his streaked hair spiked immaculately to reflect his peaked enthusiasm.

“I think he says more words in five minutes than I do all day,” marvels Tsukishima.

Tadashi throws his free hand over his heart and fawns, “He’s the greatest human being alive.”

“So you know,” Tsukishima clarifies, “I didn’t invite you over to see Zelda with the intention of kissing you. That was purely coincidental.”

Tadashi blanches because okay, it’s not like he doesn’t _know_ that it happened because it’s all he’s been able to think about for the past ninety-six hours, but this is the first time either of them have actually acknowledged it out loud to one another. And if that doesn’t make it real, Tadashi doesn’t know what does.

“Bullshit,” he lilts, “you’re just some smooth talker with a chameleon.”

Tsukishima sighs. “You’ve figured me out. And so soon, too.”

“I’m a secret genius.”

“What was that about cigarettes and crop tops?”

“I, uh. It’s nothing,” Tadashi tries.

“Sounds awfully specific to be nothing.”

“It’s just, I kind of figured you had a girlfriend. For like, weeks. I still kind of do, actually.”

A single drop of juice falls from the forgotten plum in Tsukishima’s hand and lands on the leg of his jeans—black today. Idly, he rubs at the darker spot with his pinky, holding the fruit between his middle finger and his thumb. Tadashi wants to suck the the sweet juice from his skin.

“ _God_ , no,” retorts Tsukishima. His passion is reassuring. “Why would you think that?”

“You’re seriously asking me?”

“Yes,” he answers flatly, “I’m seriously asking you.”

The more Tadashi thinks about gushing to Tsukishima regarding how _hot_ Tadashi thinks he is—and how captivating and interesting and unique and all-around beautiful—the more he feels like a stick figure next to a Picasso.

“It’s, uh—it’s nothing,” he stammers, “I’ll tell you later, maybe.”

Tsukishima eyes him curiously but lets it go. Tadashi’s grateful. _For about one million reasons,_ he thinks with a grin, Tsukishima’s fingers still grasped comfortably between his own.

* * * * *

“Oh my god,” cackles Tadashi. “Oh my god, you really did it.”

“What the fuck?” supplements Tsukishima.

“Surprise!” Bokuto and Kuroo shout in unison, revealing more of their cut abdomens as they raise their hands over their heads in excitement.

“It certainly is.”

Offbeat is _covered_ in shit: colorful balloons tied to instruments, a booming jukebox in the corner, and bags of party favors and all sorts of noisemakers cover the front counter. The chalkboard on the far wall that Tadashi’s never noticed before is adorned with names of 'Trivia Night' participants as well as some curious drawings that may or may not be inappropriate; Tadashi honestly can’t tell. Hinata zooms up to him and Tsukishima and places paper crowns on both their heads, much like the ones he and Kageyama wear. He has to jump to get the yellow one atop Tsukishima’s head and Tsukishima just lets it happen, which Tadashi thinks is totally adorable on both their parts. Akaashi sits on the stool by the register, meticulously adjusting his pink crown so it won’t push his bangs in front of his eyes.

“You guys didn’t even dress to the theme!” accuses Kuroo.

“Theme?” Tadashi asks. Kuroo turns to gawk at Bokuto.

“You texted them, didn’t you? About our ‘Crop Top Crusaders’ idea?”

Bokuto pushes cold bottles of beer into Tadashi and Tsukishima’s hands and frowns.

“Damn it,” says Kuroo, “you had one job, Bokuto!”

“Nuh-uh! With all this party planning it was more like fifty!”

“It’s just an expression. The place looks so awesome, maybe even _too_ awesome.”

“Too awesome, definitely.”

“‘Crop Top Crusaders’,” snickers Tsukishima.

Kuroo shoves him. “You know you love it.”

Tsukishima cracks open his beer with the bottle opener on his keychain and then leans over and snaps Tadashi’s open too, pocketing both caps.

“Define ‘love’.”

“It’s no big deal. I mean, Akaashi’s not wearing one,” Tadashi insists over the music, “and neither is Hinata.”

Kageyama comes to stand between Hinata and Tsukishima, a mini party horn held in the corner of his mouth like a cigarette. Specs of red and green and blue flash over his bare lower abdomen from one of the light projectors. He removes Hinata’s orange paper crown to rest his elbow on his head as he speaks, like a personal, portable armrest.

“Hinata tried. But since it was an old shirt of mine that he cut up, it still just looks normal length on him.”

Hinata seems cheerful nonetheless, tugging at the hem of the shirt he wears.

“It’s the thought that counts, right?” he chirps.

Bokuto chimes in, “And Akaashi just didn’t want to. Which I get, because we probably don’t deserve such a sight anyway. I’d spontaneously combust, and then Kuroo, and then all of us—one by one until neither Offbeat nor Wags and Whiskers has any living employees. Then they’d shut down both shops, tear down the wall between them, and put in an indoor mini-golf place or something.”

“You sure know how to compliment, Bokuto-san. But you really oversell me.”

“Nah,” Bokuto disagrees, “but just in case you change your mind, I brought a spare.”

“How thoughtful.”

“Right? Anyway—”

He zips to the counter and returns with a top hat in one hand and a stack of papers in the other.

“Alright,” he announces, “everyone write down some questions. Answers on the back, please. And _correct_ ones. I’m looking at you, Kageyama. Then ball them up and we’ll stick them in this hat—or a different hat, because I kind of want Yamaguchi to wear this one—and then—”

“Let the games begin!” Kuroo finishes.

“Dude, I wanted to say it!”

* * * * *

“‘Most likely to marry Hinata Shouyou?'” Akaashi reads from the scrap of paper.

“Yamaguchi.”

“Kageyama.”

“Tadashi!”

“Tobio.”

“Kageyama, for sure.”

“This isn’t trivia,” says Tsukishima.

“I’ll say Tobio, too.”

“Huh?!” squawks Hinata. “Kageyama, you’re saying yourself?”

Kageyama takes a long sip of his beer and responds, “Yeah, I guess so.”

“You want to be my husband, Kageyama?”

“I’m just playing the game.”

Hinata looks pained. “Do you even _know_ what marriage includes?”

Bokuto coughs something crude and Tadashi tosses a purple plastic kazoo at his head.

“We can be married and still just be friends,” Kageyama insists.

Kuroo leans into Tadashi’s side and croons, “Oh, what must go on in that head of his.”

“I’d imagine it’s like the inside of a tree,” Tadashi whispers back.

“Squirrels included?”

“Squirrels included.”

Tsukishima leans into his other side and Tadashi’s attention is immediately pulled to him, as it mostly is. Tadashi considers coating himself in super glue at all times so that whenever Tsukishima touches him, he’ll be stuck forever.

“Should I be bothered by that the fact that your name was brought up twice?” he asks.

Tadashi snorts into his bottle and little bits of foam and beer dribble down his chin.

“Cute,” snickers Kuroo. 

“Incomparably,” agrees Tsukishima and Tadashi’s head pops right off his neck, because apparently he has phased into an alternate reality wherein Tsukishima openly calls him cute and heads don’t belong on necks but instead float aimlessly through the vacuum of space, like asteroids.

“My turn, my turn, my turn,” Bokuto chants and leans forward to snatch one of the crumpled up papers from the middle of the circle they’ve formed. He unfolds it, clears his throat, and booms, “‘How many times in a day do the hands’—oh, it’s an actual trivia one—‘do the hands of a clock overlap?' Wait, no, I don’t want this one. Who wrote this, Tsukishima? It sounds like Tsukishima.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to say,” Tsukishima drones.

Bokuto balls the paper up and decides, “That can’t be my turn, I want a _fun_ one. Here, lemme choose another. Kuroo, kick one to me.”

“This is the fundamental flaw of this game,” sighs Tsukishima, “of course the person who wrote the question is going to know the answer. They had to write it on the back. Didn’t you guys think this through?”

Tadashi snickers and watches the balled-up paper roll across the carpet when Kuroo kicks it.

“Not really,” Kuroo admits. “It’s all in good fun. Leave it to you not to get that.”

“Hey, Tsukki can be fun.”

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “You’re biased, Tadashi.”

Tadashi beams at Tsukishima who grins back at him, a funky green shape projected over his face for a moment due to the electronic disco ball plugged into the far wall.

_You know what would be even more fun, though?_ Tadashi thinks as they look at each other. _You and I finally getting that second kiss out of the way. Let’s ditch all our friends and go make out in the back room! But we have to be careful of the fish tank. Kuroo would never, ever let me off the hook if something happened to it. Deal? Deal, Tsukishima?_

“‘Most likely to kick Kageyama’s ass?'” Bokuto reads and then laughs and laughs and laughs, pressing the crinkled paper to his chest. Kageyama seems unfazed as he patiently awaits answers.

“Yamaguchi.”

“Yeah, Yamaguchi.”

“Yamaguchi! Yamaguchi!”

“Yamaguchi Tadashi, absolutely.”

“It’s gotta be Yamaguchi.”

“Me!” chirps Hinata and Kageyama shoves him.

“Why me?” asks Tadashi. “I can’t kick anyone’s ass. I can’t even kick my own ass.”

Kuroo says, “He’s always fucking your shit up. It’s just a matter of time.”

“I don’t know about _always_ ,” retorts Kageyama.

“Setting Zelda loose in the shop, opening the cricket enclosure, scooping the fish from their tanks, knocking over the bucket of dirty mop water— _twice,_ ripping open that giant bag of dog food that one time you were actually trying to help, jamming the cash register when you’re not even supposed to be behind the counter in the first place,” Tadashi ceases his listing and makes a thoughtful sound. “Maybe I _should_ kick your ass, Kageyama.”

“Spare him! Spare him, spare him!” wails Hinata, clutching onto Kageyama’s sleeve and shaking him back and forth. Beer sloshes from both their bottles with the motion.

Tsukishima moves to stand. Tadashi’s sure he’s had enough of him and his weird friends and has to go meet his girlfriend at a party so they can dance real close and smoke cigarettes together and forget that the last five days ever happened. Tadashi gapes at all of the horrible possibilities but tries to look casual when Tsukishima turns to him.

“I have to take this,” he says, his cell phone clutched in his hand.

“Oh. Right, okay.”

Tadashi takes a deep breath, lets it out. _Can you act like a normal human for once, please?_ he begs himself. _He just went into the back room to take a phone call. From who, though? His mom? His brother who I’d totally love to meet someday? Does Tsukishima have other friends who are way cooler than mine that he’d rather spend time with?_

Tadashi looks over to where everyone tests to see how many empty beer bottles they can stand upright on Bokuto’s abs, but they keep falling over because Bokuto won’t stop laughing.

_No way,_ realizes Tadashi.

He downs the last of his beer and scrambles up to hand the empty bottle to Akaashi who thanks him for his contribution. Tadashi then sneaks his way to the far hall. The door to Kuroo’s so-called office is wide open which Tadashi doesn’t expect, so he just stands in the doorway and blinks at a staring Tsukishima.

“I thought you had a call? Is—er, is everything okay?”

Tsukishima steps to stand in front of him.

“The clock question was mine,” he says, “and the answer’s twenty-two. Isn’t that odd?”

Tadashi ponders this.

“Yeah, Tsukki. I don’t really know what I expected, though.”

Tsukishima adjusts his glasses. “Yeah.”

“I swear I wasn’t going to eavesdrop on your nonexistent phone call,” Tadashi tells him.

“I, uh. I didn’t get a call. Obviously. I was hoping you’d follow me back here.”

He chirps a laugh before he can stop himself. Tsukishima quirks his eyebrow and watches as Tadashi slaps his hand over his mouth.

He talks through his fingers, “Sorry, Tsukki, it’s just—that sounded straight from a porno, no lie.”

“Oh my god,” Tsukishima scoffs, “I was trying to be…I don’t know, titillating.”

“Jesus, Tsukki, you don’t have to _try,_ ” insists Tadashi, cheeks ablaze.

Tsukishima cocks his head and looks at him like Tadashi’s asked him the exact coordinates of Atlantis. Tadashi loves when he does that, he really, really does. Where it might look silly on others, confusion looks totally adorable on Tsukishima (maybe because it’s so few and far between, Tadashi hypothesizes).

“Can I ki—”

Tadashi cuts Tsukishima off with a sudden and satisfying second kiss.

The second kiss is always better with the first, establishing one out of the way. Tadashi has no idea what those books and movies talk about when they say first kiss _this,_ first kiss _that,_ because perfect kissing takes _time_ and _strategy_ , both of which are surely improved with the second kiss and therefore every one that comes after.

And kissing Tsukishima ( _oh my god, this is really happening again_ ) is no exception. His lips are so pliable as they kiss Tadashi’s own, sliding more easily together each time they reconnect. Tadashi thinks he might combust from loss in the mere two seconds it takes for Tsukishima to lean back, pull his glasses off, and toss them somewhere behind him.

The _hunger_ they both put forth has Tadashi stumbling in the doorway on weak knees. His arms lock around Tsukishima’s neck as a precaution, bringing them closer; toe-to-toe, stomach-to-stomach. He wonders if Tsukishima can feel the _bump, bump, bump_ of his chaotic heartbeat through his shirt and the quick rise of his chest when Tadashi sucks in a sudden breath—Tsukishima licks into his mouth, buzzing and humming and making all these _noises_ that Tadashi tries his best to catalogue. Tadashi licks back and he’s surprised when Tsukishima relents, letting Tadashi probe his warm, wet mouth all he wants. The beer they drank is sweet; Tadashi tastes it on Tsukishima’s tongue.

Bottle rockets burst in Tadashi’s chest when Tsukishima presses a firm hand to the back of his neck, urging him deeper. Tadashi’s own hands slide up Tsukishima’s neck and cup his burning face. He tilts it as he likes, Tsukishima showing his appreciation for the new, better angles with deep, reverberating hums. Tadashi just barely holds in an embarrassing whine when Tsukishima pulls back and nips softly at his bottom lip. Then their mouths slot together again, sliding, licking, biting. Tsukishima’s so _insistent_ and it’s evident in the wet slurp of their mouths together, lecherously loud in the quiet of the music shop’s back room.

But the quiet dissipates with the voices that float down the hall.

Only when they detach from one another does Tadashi truly notice how _warm_ he is—warm and shaking and half-hard in his shorts. He gets warmer with the crimson blush that shoots over his freckled face.

“Wait, hang on,” he tells Tsukishima who only pants in reply.

He steps to the door and swings it until it’s slightly ajar. He’d shut it fully and go back to kissing Tsukishima—he totally, totally would—but that’s before he makes out who the pair of voices belongs to. Tadashi crouches to his knees and stares up through the crack at Bokuto and Akaashi, standing together at the end of the hallway. 

Faint electronic music continues to bump in the other room. Tadashi idly wonders what the others are up to, because it can’t possibly be even half as fun as what’s going on back here.

“What’s up, Akaashi? Did you change your mind about the crop top?”

“I’m still undecided. But, um, Bokuto-san…”

Tadashi feels Tsukishima kneel beside him, bracing himself with a hand on Tadashi’s back. Tadashi can barely hear (well, _over_ hear) the conversation due to the banging of blood in his ears.

“—favorite. Geez, Akaashi, it’s not like you to not know what to say. How many beers did you have, man?” Bokuto teases and gives a peace sign. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two. I’m sorry to pull you away from the party like this.”

Bokuto shrugs, an easy smile on his lips.

“It’s all good.”

“No,” Akaashi disagrees with a sigh, “it’s so cliché.”

“I love clichés. They make things more predictable.”

Akaashi puts his hand on Bokuto’s arm.

“You’re very good to your friends, Bokuto-san,” he says, “and I think you’re a very nice person to be around.”

“But…” prompts Bokuto. Akaashi blinks at him slowly.

“But what?” he asks.

“Well, usually after people say that kind of stuff to me, there’s a ‘but’.”

“Is that true?”

“Yep,” Bokuto affirms. “You’re letting me down easy.”

“That’s not it at all.”

Bokuto cocks his head, his pointy eyebrows pulled together.

“You’re letting me down…hard?” he guesses. “Gonna tell me how much I suck? Maybe beat me up a little? Then take my wallet and rip up my frequent frozen yogurt card so I can’t get my discount? Because you know, Akaashi, the tenth one’s free, and I don’t even _like_ frozen yogurt that much but I wanted the free one so I’ve already gotten seven of them and—”

“Bokuto-sa—er, _Bokuto_ ,” Akaashi interjects, “I’d like to go out with you.”

Tadashi half-expects Bokuto to fall over, to faint like they do on sitcoms. Except in real life there wouldn’t be any crash pad to soften the blow and considering the sheer muscle weight Bokuto carries, he’d probably ding himself up pretty bad.

Tadashi bites back a smile and clicks the office door shut as quietly as he can.

“This eavesdropping thing of yours is honestly starting to concern me.”

“You know before when I said I thought you had a girlfriend?” Tadashi blurts.

“Yes,” replies Tsukishima after a few seconds, “I don’t, by the way.”

Tadashi shuffles away from the door and closer to Tsukishima, whose hand still lies flat on Tadashi’s lower back. The warmth from his palm heats Tadashi up all over again.

“I thought that because you’re so clearly awesome,” he admits, and once Tadashi starts, he can’t stop. “You’re so tall and you dress so cool and you know lots of things about lots of things that I’ve never even thought about. The first time I came into the music shop—when Kageyama did the thing, you know—I literally thought you were a model. Like, you’re the hottest, most interesting, most crazy beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

Tsukishima smiles; wide, happy, and unabashed, eyes even more golden without the frames of his glasses to hinder their brilliance. Tadashi could melt.

“I like you too, Yamaguchi,” he says.

“You really do?”

“You—“ he pauses to carefully select the words that follow, ” —are so unapologetically yourself.”

Because he can, Tadashi reaches up and flicks Tsukishima’s pink earring.

“Is that a compliment?” he asks.

Tsukishima nods. “It’s _the_ compliment.”

“Can we make out now?”

“Don’t ask, just do. You really are the king of it, by the way.”

Tadashi goes red and kisses him, a kiss that very plainly shouts: _Shut up! Oh, and I really like you!_

* * * * *

They’re getting busy on the stock room floor of Wags and Whiskers.

Tadashi has finally replaced the lightbulb (well, technically _Tsukishima_ has because he’s the only one who can reach it and the shop’s half-ladder is _still_ missing, what the fuck). The yellow light of the bare bulb glares from Tsukishima’s glasses and blinds Tadashi as he leans down over him, kiss, kiss, kissing into his hot mouth like he feels he was born to do.

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima sighs around Tadashi’s tongue.

His fingers stop their slow slide up Tadashi’s sides to pull at the hem of his t-shirt.

Tsukishima had come over to collect Tadashi for lunch on his (now _their_ ) favorite bench. Tadashi was in the back room grabbing a box of feather wands to restock the cat supply aisle—the box that currently sits forgotten on the floor by the back wall—and things just kind of went from there.

And honestly, Tadashi’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He lets Tsukishima pull his shirt off for him and fling it away, his palm rubbing over the warm, tan skin of Tadashi’s bare chest. His hand travels down to smooth over Tadashi’s navel, both of them panting at the sensation. Tsukishima’s fingernails clink against the metal buckle of Tadashi’s belt.

There’s a sharp _slam_ and then a chorus of overjoyed voices.

“He— _eeey!”_ sings Bokuto.

“Oh my god, they’re not wearing shirts!” Hinata gasps over the sound of Kageyama's incessant kazoo-blowing.

Kuroo speaks up, “Dude, nice.”

"So you guys can make out in here but Akaashi and I can't?"

_Pop. Pop. Pop, pop!_

“What the hell is that?” Tadashi shouts, scrambling to face the door.

Handfuls of colorful confetti rain down on them, tiny sprigs of silver and gold shooting from the uproarious party poppers as well as the splayed fingers of Tadashi and Tsukishima’s assailants. Tadashi cackles, beams and plucks a single, silver piece from Tsukishima’s chest. Tsukishima reaches up and ruffles Tadashi’s hair, sending a rush of glitter and confetti cascading over them both.

“I begged them not to,” Akaashi says over the calamity.

Tadashi leans down and kisses Tsukishima again anyway, their spectators hooting and catcalling in the background. They smile against each other’s lips and Tadashi feels glitter on Tsukishima’s mouth, a couple pieces of paper confetti at the corner of his own.

Tadashi really, really hates his friends.

“We found this stuff left over from our pseudo-trivia night,” calls Bokuto, “isn’t that great!?”

Hinata chirps, “You guys look like modern art! So cool!”

“Perhaps we should leave them to it?” Akaashi asks unsurely, and Kuroo just laughs.

Tadashi really, really loves his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> duuuude this has been so fun to write. the most fun thing i've ever written, without a doubt. i'm so happily overwhelmed by the amount of love this fic has gotten in such a short amount of time and i only hope i can keep bringing you guys tsukkiyama/hq!! fics that both you and i love!
> 
> kudos, bookmarks, and comments are all so very appreciated to the utmost extent!!!!
> 
> don't forget to check out the 8tracks playlist for this fic right here: http://8tracks.com/deanpendragon/blue-summer-sky  
> (oh! and catch me on tumblr @ deanpendragon)
> 
> <3


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